


Team Building Exercises

by thejokeristhethief



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Aftercare, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Come Sharing, Daddy Kink, Drunken Shenanigans, Face-Fucking, Fluff, Frottage, Handcuffs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Sexual Roleplay, Shower Sex, Smut, Spanking, Team Bonding, Teasing, mild kink shaming, past dubious consent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-29 04:45:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 106,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3882808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejokeristhethief/pseuds/thejokeristhethief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Professionals say that team building exercises makes a unit stronger, better, and more cohesive. Those people obviously never met the Agents of Project Freelancer before coming up with that description. Because when Carolina's idea of bonding includes an incredible amount of alcohol and competitive drinking games, well it might be better to call them team breaking exercises. They do have to give her some credit though, it did bring the three of them together. Now all they can do is hold onto each other and hope to hell that the bonds they forged withstand the blender they are about to be put through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alcohol and Sandwiches

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first stab at a multichapter fic. I'm sure it will only be a few chapters long because I'm a commitmentphobe. Inspired by a random tumblr post about drunk AI and a late night discussion with disney_rox_my_sox. Thanks again for putting up with me :).

When York joined Project Freelancer he knew it was going to be intense. He just didn’t think it would be this intense. Forget about leave, that’ll never happen with how tightly wound and secretive the Director is. Even the miniscule amount of downtime gets scheduled into ‘Team Building Exercises.’ The first time York discovers this, he’s royally pissed. He’d rather spend this rare gift of free time exploring the ship or watching old Earth films.

York’s opinion quickly changes after the first night. Apparently, Carolina’s idea of bonding includes copious amounts of alcohol and drinking games. This doesn’t change after the first time, despite York’s belief that they’ll eventually get caught, although he has a strange feeling that the Counsellor already knows. Sometimes they play poker, and if Connie gets her way, of the strip variety. Beer pong happens on occasion, as well as drunk Jenga. However, often it consists of games like King’s Cup or Fuck the Dealer. They tried playing Never Have I Ever once, but after York’s second black eye - courtesy of South - it was unanimously banned.

The first time Wash is promoted to Alpha group and consequently invited to bonding night, York gets extremely excited. Everyone knows that Wash is the youngest freelancer of the group, and York assumes this means that there will finally be someone he can out drink. This week’s game, Carolina has decided, is Jenga. While Maine and Connie set up the game, North mixes drinks with South, and York and Carolina explain the rules to Wash. Wyoming fiddles with the stereo until Florida notices and immediately calls veto on his music choice, opting for something more upbeat and popular.

A few rounds into the game, both Wyoming and Florida have left, claiming fatigue. Not that York can blame them, he’s always tired on mission days as well. York is starting to feel the effects of his drink, despite being completely rested. Draping an arm across Wash’s shoulders, York grins at him affectionately. “How’s it going Wash?”

“If you’re trying to make me fuck up, it won’t work man. I’ve been told I have the hands of a surgeon. Steady as fuck.” Wash casually shrugs York’s arm off his shoulder, smoothly pulling out a block. The block reads ‘finish your drink’ so Wash follows the instructions, downing his fourth drink in one extremely coordinated move. While still drinking, he sets the block on the top of the stack. York watches his adam’s apple bob, mouth suddenly dry. “Well, looks like I’m in need of another drink.”

North takes his cup from him, smacking York on the back of the head as he passes. “South and I are in charge of drinks tonight. So nobody cheats and skimps on the alcohol.”

Wash nods. “Makes sense.”

York leans towards the tower to take his turn, examining the way it is tilting. He reaches for a block that looks promising, poking it gently. The tower wobbles. He prods it harder, watching as the piece starts to slide out the back. When it’s almost out, he reaches around with the intent to pull it out. In the process, he trips over Wash, collapsing the tower and ending sprawled across the rookie’s lap with his face planted firmly into the carpet.

South snorts. “Smooth move. I think you should have to drink Wash’s cup too, since he helped you knock it over.”

Carolina grins at South. “I think that should be a new rule. If you knock the tower over, you have to drink your own drink and the drink of the person you last touched.”

York pushes himself up with one arm to glare at the two ladies across from him. Wiggling so he’s upright in Wash’s lap, he whines at them. “Why do you always pick on me? Every game night I always end up wasted because everyone feeds me drinks.”

Wash coughs, face extremely red. “Would you mind having this conversation after you’ve removed yourself from my lap?”

“Nahhh, you’re comfy.” York wiggles a bit more, settling firmly into Wash’s chest. He gets pretty cuddly when he’s drunk and he has a pretty solid knowledge of how hard it is to remove someone from your lap when you can’t get your arm behind them. He redirects his focus back to South. “Answer the question!”

North sighs, tugging York firmly out of Wash’s lap. “Everyone focuses on getting you drunk at these things because you’re ridiculous. You talk a big game, York, but in the end you can’t hold your alcohol at all. Now drink and leave the rookie alone.”

York downs his own drink before reaching for Wash’s. “Someone reset the game. I’m not done yet!”

“Actually, I think I’m done.” Wash says quietly, picking himself up off the floor. Despite having the same amount of alcohol as York, Wash seems completely steady on his feet.

“Awww… Come on rookie. Look at you, you aren’t even swaying.” York looks at him pleadingly. “I bet we ca-

“Come on Wash, please stay. Just ignore York. He’s an idiot.” Connie interrupts with a reassuring look. “North’ll keep him in check if he needs to. No more touching, we promise.”

Wash sighs, sending a shiver up York’s spine. “Fine. One more round, but after that I’m done.”

“I guess we’ll have to make this one count then.” North grabs the cups to refill them. “Doubles this round.”

Maine grunts, shooting a dark look at North. “Not carrying him this time.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll get him to his bunk tonight if he passes out.” North assures him, handing the cups back.

“Does that happen often?” Wash aks South, eyebrow raised.

“More often than he’ll admit. Maine’s only had to carry him once, though.” South is grinning as she informs him of this.

“Shut it bitch,” York growls, semi affectionately. “You need to be carried back every time we play poker or beerpong.”

“Oh you’re one to talk!” South snarls back, embarrassment tinging her cheeks red. “The only reason you win at beerpong is because my brother, for some unfathomable reason, likes you enough to team up with you every game. And you’re worse at poker than I am. Tell me York, what is the definition of a pokerface?”

York stumbles to his feet, waving his hand in dismissal. Out of the corner of his eye he notices Wash take a step back in alarm when South mirrors his actions. “Just admit it South; you’re a lightweight.”

Carolina grins at Wash and Maine chuckles deeply. South makes an aborted movement of anger with her hands, as if she wants to reach for York’s throat but knows she can’t. “Let’s settle who is and isn’t a lightweight, York. Shots. Now.”

Wash lets out a breath, turning to North. “Whew, thought that was going to get physical. Your sister seems like the type to start a drunken brawl.”

“What was that, rookie?” South questions sharply from behind Wash. York can’t help grinning, he knows what’s going to come out of her mouth next. “Did I just hear you say you want in on the shot competition too? OK. Maine, set up another spot.”

Wash gapes at her for a moment, before sighing. “Fine. Rules?”

“30 second rest period. Last person standing wins. You pass out at the table and I get to draw dicks on your face.” Her grin is positively sharklike when she holds out her hand for Wash to shake.

“As long as I get to draw dicks on yours if you pass out we have a deal.” Wash takes the proffered hand, shaking it twice. York nods in agreement from where he’s perched at the table. The shots commence.

Ten minutes and 13 shots later, the competition has slowed down immensely. York is swaying in his chair and South is slumped sideways, leaning on Maine as he pours the next round of shots. Wash seems perfectly steady in his chair, although his hands have started to shake. With a groan, York downs the shot Maine places in front of him, watching as Wash does the same. South reaches for her shot, knocking it over before collapsing face first on the table.

“Finally,” York groans. “I don’t think I can do another, but I didn’t want to go out first.”

“We done?” Wash asks. When York nods, Wash lets out a sound of relief. “Good. Then I’d very much like to go to bed and pass out now.”

York hums in agreement, letting his head slump onto the table. He watches as Wash pushes back the from the table, staggering to his feet. He sways slightly before gaining his balance and striding towards the door.

York watches Wash in amazement.“Huggh? How did he do that? How do you do that? I don’t even think I can walk, let alone straight.”

Wash pauses halfway to the door and shrugs. “Guess I just hold my alcohol better, York.”

Maine chuckles from where he’s collecting South. York’s attention snaps to him and he whines. “Why does she get carried?”

Maine stares at him for a moment, contemplating him, before striding towards the door carrying South. He tosses an answer over his shoulder. “Like her, don’t like you.”

Carolina snorts with laughter, leaning on Connie as they leave. “Go to bed you three. We’ll clean up in the morning.”

North slings an arm around York’s back, supporting him as he staggers up from his chair. The world spins and he falls. North catches him before he can hit the ground though. He slurs out his appreciation. “Thanns maan. Aways coun on you ta have mah back.”

North sighs, pulling York’s arm around him before tightening his hold. “I always have you, moron. Now lets get you to bed.”

Wash clears his throat quietly, as if afraid of ruining something. “Want some help with him, North?”

York takes that moment to stumble sideways, pulling North with him. North shrugs helplessly. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

Wash shrugs under York’s other arm, and together the three of them stumble out of the room. That night Wash learns how difficult it is to put York to bed when he’s drunk. Eventually, North sends Wash out, claiming that Wash is drunk and needs his sleep. As he leaves, York plants a kiss directly on North’s mouth. Wash lets the door slide shut behind him.

 

* * *

It only takes a few of these bonding nights for the other Agents to realize that the best way to get Wash drunk is through King’s Cup or Fuck the Dealer. He’s the resident beerpong champion, a title easily earned by the team’s weapons specialist. They’ve all seen him bounce an RPG off the corner of a building into an oncoming enemy hornet without blowing the building to bits. Bouncing a ping pong ball into a cup is no problem.

After the first game of King’s Cup they decide that Wash can mix his own drinks. He’s drinking two or three cups to everyone else’s one and the twins are both tired of constantly having to get up.

After Wash’s 8th drink, South makes a proposal. “Next game, I vote the rookie makes drinks for everyone. He’s getting up all the time anyway and I’m getting bored of it.”

Wash nods. “That’s fine. Next time I’ll take over for you.”

That night, after the 7th time Wash is forced to drink the King’s Cup, York finally gets his wish. Wash staggers to his feet, well and truly wasted. North watches from the other side of the youngest team member, a look of trepidation on his face. Wash over balances, stumbling left and just barely catching himself with a hand on York’s thigh. North is out of his chair in seconds to steady the other blond. York’s eyes dart briefly across Wash’s flushed face before meeting North’s steady gaze.

“I think it’s time to get you to bed Wash,” North murmurs, voice pitched low. He hooks an arm around Wash’s waist, hoisting him back to his feet. “York, I think I could use some help.”

The other Freelancers offer a combination of farewells as the three agents exit the lounge. Wash lets out a tiny giggle, waving over his shoulder as the other two drag him towards the door. North raises his eyebrows in surprise at York. “Did he just….?”

“He totally giggled. Holy shit. Wash giggles.” York is gaping a little at the man draped between them.

“Yooorrrk!” Wash croons at him, head flopping onto to York’s shoulder. “York, why are you soooo pretty? You shouldn’t be so pretty. It isn’t fair.”

North stiffens on the other side of Wash, lips pressing together tightly. York gets it, they talked about this after York got wasted and crawled over Wash on that first night. He wouldn’t want someone hitting on North either. They decided a few months into the project that they belong to each other. York is about to gently nudge Wash’s head off his shoulder when the younger man turns his focus to North. He watches in confusion as Wash’s eyes comb North’s face before pressing his cheek to North’s shoulder.

“‘M drunk North. An cold. You’re so nice and warm. And you smell so good. Can I sleep with you? Both of you? It’ll be like a Washington sandwich. You can even eat me if you want.” Wash breaks into giggles after that, tugging on York’s waist as he collapses further into North. He presses his face into North’s neck, mumbling. “I bet you taste as good as you smell. And I bet York tastes as good as he looks. Does he, North? Shhh! You can tell me, I won’t tell anyyyyone, I proooomise.”

“Uhh, Wash?” York trades an alarmed look with North as he tries to untangle himself. Wash has a tight hold on his shirt, however, and it’s making things difficult. “Wash, what are you talking about? You’re drunk buddy. I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”

“Saw you kissin’. But s’ok, I won’t tell.” Wash pulls his head from North neck to look at York as he explains. “Mighta been lil bit jealous before. Buhh three of us’ll cuddle now, yes? Pleasse North? Dun wanna be alone anymore.”

He sounds so completely dejected and York’s heart melts. He sees the same look on North’s face, but he lets the taller blond do the talking. He can’t afford to fuck up this thing he has with North.

North breathes deeply in through his nose, contemplating Wash’s proposition silently. It’s not like the two of them haven’t thought about it, both separately and together. They even talked about it briefly after York drunkenly made his desire for Wash obvious. “Fine, Wash. We can cuddle tonight, but tomorrow we have to talk about this.”

Wash hums happily. “K. Tonight cuddles, tomorrow talk. Gotcha. Bed now?”

York can’t help chuckling at that. Wash is kind of an adorable drunk. “Yes Wash, bed now. North, yours is closest.”

As soon as they get the door to North’s bunk open, Wash starts stripping. North wraps an arm around York’s waist and presses a kiss to his neck as they watch the shorter blond peel off his shirt. The freckles that cover the back of Wash’s neck travel all the way down his back, disappearing into his pants. York feels North shift behind him to mutter in his ear.

"Oh god, he's covered in them. I wonder how far they go." Lust coats every word, making York shiver in arousal. He leans back, pressing himself tighter against North.

"Can we play connect the dots later?" York whispers back. "After that talk tomorrow?"

North hums his agreement, focus back on Wash and his vast amount of freckles. York stifles a laugh when the shorter man gets his arm stuck briefly. This is definitely not a sexy strip tease, no matter how hot Wash is without a shirt. After flailing briefly, the arm comes free and the shirt is pulled over Wash's head. 

Shirt dealt with, Wash turns to face them. He reaches out a hand to tug up York’s shirt. “Come on! Can’t cuddle with all that clothing on. That makes it no fun.”

North makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat when Wash lets go of York’s shirt to shed his own pants. “Wash, slow down. We aren’t cuddling naked tonight.”

“Never said naked. Just said not so much clothes. Eager, North?” Wash winks at him before growling in frustration when he notices that they are still fully clothed. The noise shoots right to York’s groin and he can feel North’s hand squeeze his hip as the man behind him reacts. Wash lets out a petulant whine. “Clothes offfff!”

With a sigh, North gives in. He efficiently strips off his outer clothing, watching as York does the same. Wash grins in triumph before grabbing each man by a hand and dragging them to the bed. Pushing them down, he nestles himself in the middle with a sigh of contentment.

York cuddles closer in attempt to make sure he won’t fall off the bed. North meets his gaze. “Do you think you can get the light, York?”

“If you two scoot over and make some room for me when I get back.” York agrees, rolling off the bed to hit the lights. He hears North shuffling Wash into a more accommodating position and by the time he makes it back to the bed, there is a perfect amount of room. He snuggles up to Wash’s back, tossing an arm over his hip to tangle his fingers with North’s.

As he’s drifting off to sleep, York hears Wash happily mutter, “Washington sandwich.”


	2. Hangovers and Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash has a meltdown. Let operation 'Avoid York and North at All Costs' commence.

When Wash claws his way to consciousness the next morning, the first thing he notices is that he's incredibly warm.  The next thing he deduces is that a bird must have decided to build its nest in his mouth. With concrete. With this thought entering his hangover muddled mind, Wash rolls over to collect the bottle of water he always keeps on the nightstand. Or he attempts to roll over. His brain promptly informs him that he is stuck. He assess the situation with his eyes still closed. No need to let his captors know he's awake.

Letting his other senses take over, Wash focuses on his position first. He can worry about his location later. The thing his cheek is pressed against is harder than his pillow. Warmer too. Too warm to be the floor. And the surface beneath the rest of his body feels akin to his bunk. There is a warm pressure on his back too. All in all, the position would be rather comfortable if he wasn't immobilized. Wash takes a deep breath to squash down the panic, inhaling a mixture of familiar and unforgettable scents. 

Wash flailingly bolts into sitting position, smacking North in the face and jettisoning York off the bed with an unintentional shove. Big mistake; the world immediately starts spinning. He groans and collapses backwards again.

“Nggh. What the hell Wash?” York glares at him over the edge of the bed. North has propped himself up on an elbow, his other hand clutching his nose. “Isn’t it a little early for murder? Man, talk about fickle.”

North rubs his nose with a rueful chuckle, making eye contact with York. “Maybe we won’t be having that chat after all.”

“Stoppp talking.” Wash moans. “Need water, please.”

“There’s a bottle in the drawer, along with some aspirin.” North directs York. “Wash, you need to sit up or else the room will continue spinning. Put your foot on the ground and focus on it, OK? It’ll make everything stop.”

Wash lets North manhandle him so that he’s upright before complying with the other instructions, leaning forward to put his foot down. To his surprise, North’s infinite wisdom pays off and as soon as his foot is firmly on the floor the room ceases to be a tilt a whirl. He looks up and experimentally lifts his foot off the floor, and sure enough the room spins again. He instantly slams it back down, head tilting as he focuses on it.

There is the sound of a plastic bottle being opened and then York clears his throat. “Here you go, lush. Have some water.”

Wash takes the bottle, holding out his hand for some painkillers as he takes a drink of water. It’s only after he downs the pills that York shakes into his hand that he attempts to figure out what is going on. “Thanks York. What happened last night? I feel like I got run over by a drunken conga line.”

North snorts and York’s eyebrows shoot up so fast they almost disappear into the flattened fringe his hair has been reduced to in the night. Wash can feel them doing their silent communication thing. The one that makes him both extremely annoyed and extremely jealous. York must lose whatever silent argument they are having, because he crouches in front of Wash to make eye contact.

“Drunken conga line, huh? That’s an interesting comparison. You’ll have to tell us about that later.” York is shooting for an easy, joking tone but Wash can pick out the glint of seriousness hiding in his eyes. York’s never been good at masking his emotions.

Wash is suddenly very sure that he does not want to be here anymore. He lets his head drop back towards the floor, eyes ducking passed York’s probing gaze. He struggles to think of something that can help him avoid the fallout of whatever he did last night to create this awkward situation, and comes up with nothing. Wash has a hard time keeping the worry out of his voice. “Ha, yeah. It’s a pretty amusing story, I’ll tell you that much. Apparently cars aren’t the only things that like running me over.”

“Hey. Wash, come on. Look at me.” York places a hand on Wash’s knee to steady himself while his other hand comes up to cup the side of Wash’s face. He uses it to tilt Wash’s face up to meet his gaze.

Wash inhales sharply. York is extremely close to him, hair still flat from sleep. Memories of the night before flood into Wash’s brain, overwhelming him. An arm around his waist, holding him steady. Hands sliding up his bare side. A naked chest pressed against his shirtless back. All of these things accumulate and, without thinking, Wash surges forward to capture York’s lips in a searing kiss. York gasps in surprise, and Wash takes full advantage of the slight parting of his lips, tongue diving into York's mouth desperately. The hand on his knee tightens as York strokes a thumb across Wash’s cheek.

A soft cough from North has Wash reeling back with embarrassment and panic, a shove sending York sprawling to the floor for the second time that morning. He opens his mouth to explain, or maybe apologize but all he can afford is a few sputtering stutters before he launches himself across the room and out the door, shaking off North’s hand when he reaches out in an attempt to stop Wash. As he’s fleeing, his mind processes North’s soft comment, “Well that could have gone better.”

* * *

Head pounding, Wash bolts down the hallway towards his bunk. He is so focused on finding a solution out of the disaster he has just created that he doesn't notice the other occupants of the hallway until he's sent sprawling on his ass. Glaring up at Maine, Wash lets out an indignant huff.

Maine merely matches his glare with an amused smirk, reaching out a hand to help him up. "Careful. Pay attention."

Connie leans around Maine. "That's a good look, Wash. Not sure the Director would approve, but North and York wouldn't be opposed I imagine."

Wash glances down at his attire, flushing deeply. In his haste to distance himself he forgot his pants. "Uhh.. umm clothes. Yeah,clothes would be good. Excuse me, I'm just going to go do that."

“Do tell Wash, where are your clothes? With North or York perhaps? Did you get some last night?" Connie keeps step as he moves to pass them. "You know I'm just going to drag it out of you later, you might as well tell me now."

Maine lets out a deep chuckle before clapping a massive hand on Wash's shoulder. "Clothes now. Then food. Talk later."

Wash shoots Maine a grateful look before dodging through the door to his quarters. As the door slides shut Connie calls out, "We'll wait right here."

Once the door has completely closed, Wash takes a moment to himself, locating his water bottle for a long drink. And then he promptly proceeds to freak the fuck out. The water bottle bounces off the door as he whirls around to throw it before collapsing on his bed, rubbing his temples. “Stupid, stupid, stupid! goddammit why am I so fucking stupid? I just had to go and kiss him didn’t I? And in front of North too. They’re going to hate me now. And what the fuck did I do last night?”

A knock on the door silences his self berating. Connie’s voice floats through the door. “Wash, you OK in there? We heard a pretty spectacular crash a few minutes ago. Oh, Maine says hurry up. He’s hungry.”

“Everything’s fine! I’m coming.” Wash yells at the door, masking his anxiety poorly. Dropping his boxers to the floor, he locates a clean pair before pulling on some sweats and faded t-shirt. Fuck being presentable, his head hurts too much. He shuffles across the room, ignoring the leaking water bottle, to hit the door release. “Sorry Maine. Good to go now. I hope there’s something greasy left.”

“Bit hungover there, Wash?” Connie teases, throwing her arm over his shoulder. Wash tenses when the contact brings a rush of memories through his mind. Oh god. He called York pretty. He called York pretty in front of North. And then he told North he smelled good. And asked him what York tasted like. Jesus. 

Connie squeezes his shoulder in concern, pulling him out of his revery. “You OK rookie? Seem a little quieter than normal.”

“I’m an idiot, that’s why.” Wash moans. “I did something stupid last night.”

Maine makes a sympathetic noise as he pulls open the mess hall door, ushering them in. Wash quickly surveys the room. York and North are in their usual spot, heads bent close together in what seems like an argument. Across from them, in Wash’s usual spot, is a single glass of chocolate milk and a plate of fruit. Fuck. Fuck North and his stupid thoughtful and confusing actions.

“Move. Need food. And coffee.” Maine pushes him gently forward, effectively ceasing his blockade of the door. Wash follows, ignoring the fact that his friends have been nice enough to supply him with his usual breakfast. He’s not going to sit there anyway. Wash is pretty sure he’s still not ready for the ‘let's just be friends’ conversation. In fact, he’s not sure he will ever be ready for that conversation. He has other friends, he can survive without York’s stupidly perfect grin and North’s soft, caring voice. And holy shit, he’s in love with them. Just fucking perfect.

“Wash. Earth to Wash, come in Agent Washington. Do you read, Wash?” Connie is waving a hand in his face, grinning at him. “Man, where’s your head today? Did all that alcohol turn your brain to mush? Food will probably fix that. And look! They actually have potato thingies today.”

“Hmm? Oh! Hash browns. Hell yes.” Wash starts loading his tray up with food. Eggs, sausage, and a piece of toast join the massive mountain of cubed potatoes on his plate. They rarely get hash browns, or potatoes of any sort really, and Wash isn’t going to miss out on them. He tops his tray off with a glass each of orange juice and water. 

Turning, he leads Connie and Maine to a table across the room from their usual spot, ignoring the eyes tracking his every move. He does, however, spare a glance over his shoulder as he settles into his new spot across from Maine. Both the hurt look that etches itself across North’s face and the way that York’s shoulders slump before his face gets tight with anger are enough to make his heart clench. He turns his attention to his food, ignoring Connie’s questioning glance.

Wash winces at the sound of a bench scraping back, half expecting York to come over and give him a piece of his mind. Instead, the mess goes silent at the violent clatter of dishes. Wash turns in time to catch sight of York slamming open the doors to the mess. Wash can tell from his stance that he is seriously pissed off. North places his tray in the pile in a more sedate way, before calmly following York through the door with an air of annoyed disappointment. He spares Wash a swift glance before the door swings closed. Noise picks up in the mess again as the occupants speculate on the reasons behind York’s outburst.

“Well that was interesting.” Connie states, scooping up a forkful of scrambled eggs. Wash shrugs as he shovels hash browns into his face, waiting while she chews. Despite his recent actions, he’s not stupid. She still has more to say. Sure enough, Connie continues as soon as she swallows. “Judging by the little show we just received, you aren’t done screwing up yet today, Wash. Whatever you did earlier is just going to get worse if you ignore it. So spill. The full story. I can’t help you fix this if I don’t know what you broke.”

“I can’t tell you, Connie. It involves a secret that isn’t mine. But lets just say that I fucked up and did something I can’t take back.” Wash sighs in despair, hunching in on himself. “I don’t think fixing it is possible. Because I don’t want it to be the way it was before.”

Maine gives him a look that screams idiot. “Different s'not broken. Doesn’t have to be fixed the same. Could make things better?”

“Maine’s right, Wash. I think maybe you’re blowing things out of proportion a little. Neither York nor North seemed particularly angry before the stunt you just pulled. North even got you breakfast. I mean, regardless of which one you fucked, they seemed pretty intent on having you sit with them. Maybe they’re flexible with sharing?” Wash chokes on his orange juice and Connie takes the opportunity to spear the last sausage off his plate. “York might be a tad angry now though.”

“I didn’t fuck anybody, Connie.” He hisses, glaring at her. A flash of skin on skin comes to mind, waking up pressed between two warm, mostly naked bodies. “At least, I don’t think we had sex. As far as I can remember, it was just cuddling. I don’t think North would let anything else happen while I was intoxicated. And I mean, cuddling was all well and good and I woke up between them. But then I kissed York. And North just sort of… coughed. Like an awkward ‘what the fuck are you doing’ cough.”

“Both of them? Oh Wash. What did North say after you kissed his boyfriend?” Connie asks, watching Wash’s face intently as he scoffs down the last of his eggs. “I mean, he didn’t look upset when he was waiting for you. Maybe he changed his mind?”

“You run?” Maine asks quietly, piecing together Wash’s story with the way they collided in the hallway earlier that morning.

“Yeah. I just couldn’t stick around for the whole ‘we like you, but just as friends’ talk. I mean, you know how possessive of York North can get. The way he looks at people when York gets drunk and starts being grabby. And I don’t think I could deal with being a one time thing anyway, guys.” Wash covers his face in embarrassment, voice dropping to a miserable whisper. “I think I might be in love. With both of them. Is that even possible?”

“More difficult.” Maine grumbles. “Fixing might take effort.”

“Oh Wash, honey. You really did dig yourself a big hole didn’t you?” Connie rubs a comforting circle on his lower back. “I’m afraid you’re just gonna have to suck it up and talk to them. You can’t avoid them forever.”

“Watch me try.” Wash mumbles.

 

* * *

Wash’s plan of avoiding North and York works pretty decently. He’s had both their training schedules memorized for a while now, and it’s easy to tweak his so he never has to see them. He takes his meals in the mess with Connie or Maine when he knows North and York are usually lifting or otherwise engaged. Wash manages to go three and a half days without encountering either man, much to their increasing frustration. On the afternoon of the fourth day, however, everything changes.

Wash is stripping out of his armor, chatting with Maine about the knife match he just finished with Connie when York steps through the door with North. Irritation is seeping from every inch of him and North’s stance also depicts slight annoyance. Maine plants himself firmly between them and Wash.

“Excuse me, Maine. Just need to talk to our buddy Wash for a minute.” York’s voice is deceptively friendly but his eyes are hard and he looks poised for a fight. He takes a step forward to pass Maine, only to be blocked again.

Maine rolls his shoulders and shakes his head. He doesn’t particularly like York. Never has. If Wash doesn’t want to talk to them, then Maine is going to make them leave. “Doesn’t want to talk to you. Should leave.”

“Come on Maine, it’ll just take a moment.” York tries again, less friendly.

Maine just cracks his knuckles.

York sighs. His voice drops low and dangerous, sending shivers up Wash’s spine and twisting his stomach in arousal. “I don’t have time for this. Move. Now. Or would you like me to demonstrate why I’m second on the board? I’m better than you Maine, and I  will  get passed you. I’ll take you to pieces if I have to.”

Maine shifts, glancing at North questioningly. North shrugs apologetically, but doesn’t move to stop York. That alone would have caused alarm, but the shift in York’s stance is enough to get Wash moving. He places a hand on Maine’s shoulder.

“It’s alright man. Can’t avoid them forever right?” Maine tilts his head in acknowledgment, stance relaxing. He turns, clasping Wash’s arm briefly in support, before scooping up his helmet and exiting the locker room. He has training anyway.

York doesn’t fully relax his stance until Maine has gone. Once he’s sure he won’t have to fight, he exhales angrily. Possibly more angrily than he intends, Wash observes, because he takes a few calming breaths before starting. His voice is still shaky with anger, along with another emotion that Wash is having trouble identifying. “Right. So now that we have you alone and you can’t escape… We need to have a little chat.” 

“Maybe I should take this one. Last time didn’t go so well for you.” North suggests quietly, placing a calming hand on York’s shoulder. Wash hears it anyway. The next set of words makes his heart skip a beat. “If we want to date him, he needs to stick around. We can’t afford to scare him off again.”

York matches North’s volume, and Wash briefly wonders if they purposely chose that volume, knowing that he’d be able to hear them. “I can’t decide whether I want to punch him or kiss him right now.”

“Hey now, I have rights to the first kiss. You already got one.” North’s voice has taken on a hungry quality. Suddenly Wash is a lot more interested in getting this conversation over with. He clears his throat quietly. The way their gazes snap towards him is slightly intimidating, and he swallows hard. When York’s eyes sweep up and down his body Wash tenses with anticipation. The lust in those eyes is unmistakable..

“York, stop staring. You’re making him nervous.” North nudges York gently.

“Sorry. I’m just making sure I remember what he looks likes. In case he disappears again and I have to keep using my imagination.” York is still focused on examining Wash as he says this, and a grin spreads across his face when Wash flushes scarlet.

“York…” North warns, swatting his arm before turning his focus to Wash. “We don’t want to put any pressure on you Wash, but we’ve agreed this conversation is necessary. See, the thing is I miss you. And I’m pretty positive York misses you too. So we’d like it if you could, at the very least, stop avoiding us. Can you do that?”

Wash hesitates briefly before nodding. Hopefully he’s read the room better this time and he won’t have to break that promise.

“OK, good. Now we need to have the talk we were going to have a couple days ago. Maybe we should sit down for this?” North gestures towards the bench behind Wash. Wash backs up, perching himself on the bench nervously. York plops down beside him, leg pressed against his. Wash can tell he’s still seething slightly when he crosses his arms across his chest. York only does that when he’s unimpressed.

North slips down onto the bench on Wash’s other side, capturing his focus. “So. About the other night. York and I have talked about it. In fact we talked about it a few times before that night as well. We’ve found that we have a problem. We don’t want to, and in fact, can’t be friends with you.”

Wash’s stomach flips and he briefly thinks that he might vomit. The breath rushes out of his lungs and he suddenly can’t get any air. This is it. This is what he was afraid was going to happen. He’s vaguely aware York shifting behind him and someone saying something to him. But his lungs are screaming and all he can focus on is the fact he can’t catch his breath.

And then suddenly there is a set of hands on his face. Warm, strong hands. And there are thumbs stroking over his cheeks. Another hand is rubbing up and down his back soothingly and he can feel breath against the back of his neck. He focuses on the little puffs that make the hair on his neck raise with want, timing his exhales to match.

“I think he’s coming out of it York.” North’s voice registers from a point in front of him, and the hands on his face tip his head back. “Wash, can you hear me? Please open your eyes.”

Wash wants to do what North asks, he really does. But if he stops focusing on his breathing he might forget to continue and that’s not a good thing.

“Try kissing him.” York jokes. “It helped sleeping beauty, and she’s got nothing on our Wash.”

Wash’s breath hitches at the casual use of the word ‘our’. He’s starting to get whiplash from all the back and forth going on in this conversation. He’s about to inform them of that when North replies, voice contemplating. “Do you think that would work? He does still owe me a kiss.”

“Eh, might as well try it. Not like you can make it any worse, right?” York stops stroking his back, instead moving to wrap around his chest pulling Wash backwards into himself. North follows, hands still cupping his face. And then he’s pressing his lips to Wash’s in a chaste kiss. Wash’s eyelids flutter open in shock. Holy shit, North is kissing him! His brain reacts late to this news, cluing in just as North pulls back, taking an embarrassing mewl from Wash with him as he goes.

“Haha holy shit, did that actually work?” York’s grin is evident in his voice. “Man, I knew you were an exceptional kisser North, but that’s just magic.”

“Hush you.” North glares over Wash’s head at York, before glancing down. His eyes soften immediately as he takes in Wash’s face. “You’re OK Wash, just a little panic attack. Sorry about setting that off. What I was trying to say before we lost you is that we can’t be just friends with you. We want more. So much more.”

“More? I don’t know. I don’t want to just be a plaything to spice up the bedroom, North. I can’t do that… can’t be that again. I’ve got feelings. And they’re weird. And they’re for you. Both of you. God I’m terrible with words.” Wash groans in frustration. “I think I’m in love with the two of you. And if you just want to have sex with me that isn’t going to work.”

York’s arms tighten around Wash’s chest and he breathes out against his neck in relief. “Oh thank god. I thought you were going to say no. Wash, we love you too. This past week has been awful.”

North’s eyes haven’t left Wash’s face since their kiss. He nods in agreement with York’s words, eyes fixed on Wash’s lips. “He’s right Wash, we love you too. Can I have a real kiss now?”

Wash doesn’t bother forming an answer with words. Instead he reaches out and grabs a handful of North’s shirt, pulling him in forcefully. He grins into the kiss when he hears York mutter contently. “Washington sandwiches are my favorite kind.”


	3. Catch and Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week of frustration comes to a head during a sparring match between York and North. Wash being suggestive doesn't help relieve the tension any.

The thing about Washington, North surmises, is that people are chronically underestimating him. They equate his youth to immaturity. Being the youngest Freelancer automatically makes people assume he's inexperienced in everything. It's exactly the kind of thinking that has put North in this position, pinned to the floor by an abominable tease as York does something out of view. Damn Connie and her love for strip poker.

See, before tonight, things between the three of them haven't exactly been, in York's terms, hot and heavy. North's always been the type of guy to take it slow. He likes to lay down a solid foundation before he does anything drastic. It drives York crazy, but Wash is surprisingly supportive of North's wishes. This, coupled with his relatively young age, gave North the assumption that perhaps Wash had never been in a proper relationship before. A thought that, when shared with York, had them both incredibly aroused.

North has always had a thing for teaching. If he wasn't so damn good at shooting things, he might have been a teacher. York stated that the nefariousness of the situation makes it less like teaching and more like tainting or corrupting. North can't say he doesn't agree, especially considering the recent path his mind's been taking in the presence of the other agent. Looking back now, North thinks they probably got that one wrong.

Wash doesn't brag about his abilities. He doesn't wear his accomplishments on the outside. He doesn't have Maine's confident swagger or the cockiness of York's steps. There is none of Carolina’s dangerous aura or South's ferocity. And he definitely doesn't demonstrate North's own calm confidence. At least, not all the time. But when Wash knows he's good at something, when he's 100% sure of his skill, the air around him changes. He demonstrates all of that and then some. So the fact that he's so confident around them, so cocky, should have been a tip off.

* * *

A week after their conversation in the locker room, Wash slides into his regular spot in the mess, foot casually brushing North's as he snags a sausage off York's plate. "So... hand to hand match today huh? Should be entertaining to watch."

North blinks. He must have mistaken the intonation in Wash’s voice, because there's no way he meant for that to sound like a turn on. York doesn't react to it, and his tone is perfectly normal when he banters with Wash, so it must just be the fact North’s been a little frustrated recently. "Yeah, I doubt that. I'm going to take the old man down pretty quickly. I'll sweep the mats with him and make him call me daddy."

"I thought I told you not to call me that anymore." North grumbles, hitting York lightly on the shoulder. "I'm only a couple years older than you are anyway."

"Yeah, which makes you like what? 10 years older than Wash?" York grins playfully. "Old man."

"No way York. That'd make Wash like 17... Oh god, you're not 17 right, Wash? Please don't tell me you are 17!" North feels the panic rising inside of him. He doesn't know how old Wash is. None of them really do. The possibility of him being underage only just now occurred. And while it's highly unlikely, the Director isn't exactly a stickler with the rules.

Wash’s eyebrow shoots up. “Uhh nope. Not 17. Don’t worry North, I’m legal. I’m also very interested in the fact that you didn’t even try to deny that York was going to make you call him daddy. But it’s OK North, if your muscles are sore after he takes you down I can help. My fingers work magic. I’ll take really good care of you, make you feel incredible, I swear.”

North gapes at Wash. Judging from York’s sharp intake of breath, he definitely did not misconstrue that tone this time. Wash beams at them from across the table, rubbing his foot against North’s calf. The rookie’s going to be his undoing. York’s hand finds his thigh and squeezes, a silent sign that he probably wants to pull Wash over the table and kiss the smile from his lips. If they weren’t in public, North would have Wash pinned to the nearest available surface. As it is, once they’re alone, he’s going to test Wash’s claim.

York clears his throat. “Well then. that’s a pretty bold claim, Wash. I’d like to watch that, so I’ll make sure he has a few tender areas for you to work on.”

North brushes off York’s hand at the same time he moves his leg away from Wash’s roaming foot. Collecting his tray, he stands up, nudging York as he goes. “As fascinating as this conversation is, we’re going to be late.”

York sighs, popping the last strawberry from Wash’s plate into his mouth as he stands to follow North. Wash watches hungrily as York’s tongue sweeps across his lips to catch a stray drop of juice from the berry. Scooping up his tray, York saunters over to the tray disposal area, glancing over his shoulder at Wash as he goes. “Coming Wash?”

“Not yet, but I will be. Shortly after the two of you.” Despite the obvious innuendo, Wash’s tone is innocent. “I’m just going to finish my breakfast. I might catch up to you in the locker room before hand, otherwise I’ll be watching from up high.”

“Tease.” York mutters under his breath, falling into step with North as they head for the locker room to gear up. “Do you think he does that all on purpose?”

“That middle part, yes. But I think the other stuff was merely coincidence. Subtly isn’t really Wash’s strong suit.” North shrugs. He’s still a little baffled about the whole conversation. “And it really isn’t like Wash to be so bold. I’m not sure he realizes how seductive he was being.”

“He’s just lucky there were witnesses, or else I would have pulled him over the table and put that filthy mouth to better use.” The low and aroused tone that York uses makes North’s pants feel tighter. “We’ll make him eat his words tonight though. No training tomorrow morning, and Connie’s been bugging Carolina for some strip poker recently. You know how terrible Wash and I are at that game. All you have to do is have a bad night and we’ll probably manage to bow out with plenty of time to make the rookie beg.”

“Mmm. I like that idea. Think of all the pretty noises that we’ll be dragging out of that innocent mouth of his.” A dark chuckle tumbles from his lips as North pictures what he intends. “You’ll help me make sure he’s wrecked for anyone else, won’t you York?”

York swallows hard, the goosebumps North’s chuckle created visible on his arms. “Of course, but only if I get to play too.”

North sighs as the two of them enter the locker room. It’s going to be a pain to get his neoprene undersuit on when he’s half hard from all their talk. It doesn’t help that, after a swift glance to make sure the room is empty, York shoves him against the lockers and ravishes his mouth with a quick and dirty kiss. He groans in frustration when York pulls away. “Dammit York. Suiting up is going to be uncomfortable now.”

“Not my fault I have two incredibly hot boyfriends. You do ridiculous things to me man.” York smirks at him. “Besides, you were already well on your way to being uncomfortable before I kissed you. Wash had you halfway there before we even left the mess.”

“Shut up and get dressed. We’re already running a bit behind.” North shoves York towards his locker before punching the code in to unlock his own. He methodically pulls out his armor, stacking each piece on the bench. Clatter behind him suggests that York has finally gotten started as well. Locker empty and armor spread out neatly, North proceeds to strip. Their undersuits are like a second skin, so tight that wearing anything more than the essentials under them is impossible. Yanking off his shirt, he folds it, tossing it in his locker before stepping out of his fatigue pants and folding them into his locker as well. The shuffling behind him stops, suggesting York has started to undress. 

North has one leg shoved into his undersuit and is just about to put the other in when a low whistle startles him, forcing him to hop in an attempt to keep balance. Wash’s grin is evident in his voice. “Got here just in time for the show, it seems. Nice legs North. Commando hey, York? That’s hot.”

“Hey Wash,” York replies nonchalantly, reaching out a hand to steady North. The words die on his lips when North glances over to thank York. The infiltrations specialist is completely naked and making no attempt at modesty. North can’t help letting his eyes wander over his lovers toned chest and defined abs. He’d very much like to taste York’s golden skin, trace his tongue over those abs, suck a mark on his inner thigh to show Wash who York really belongs to. 

North blinks at that last thought. He has no idea where that came from. He was so certain that he wouldn’t be jealous of Wash. But York does manage to garner a lot of the younger man’s attention. They are always touching or joking or teasing. In fact, now that North is thinking of it, Wash pays far more attention to York than anyone else, himself included. North is startled out of his thoughts when a hand grips his bicep and another settles on his face. There is a concerned look on Wash’s face when his eyes refocus. 

“Are you OK North? You went sort of pale there.” Wash’s thumb traces the line of North’s cheekbone in slow strokes which North unconsciously learns into. His hand comes off North’s bicep, reaching up to rest on his forehead as Wash lifts himself onto his toes to peer more clearly into his eyes. He plants a soft kiss on North’s lips before letting go. “You don’t feel warm, so you’re probably OK.”

“Mm yeah, I’m fine. Just got distracted by some thoughts.” North forces himself to smile, internally wincing when it comes out tight. Wash raises an eyebrow but chooses not to comment on the weakness of his smile. 

“Yeah, naked York distracts my thoughts too.” Wash reaches out to absentmindedly run a hand down North’s chest. “As you can imagine, being around two incredibly gorgeous men in such a state of undress has my mind a little jumbled. As much as I hate to suggest it, you should probably hurry up and dress though. Unless you want to give the entire ship a show. I can’t promise I won’t be incredibly jealous if you do.”

North sighs, stepping back to pull his suit up passed his waist. Behind him York is already clipping on pieces of his own armor. North puts his arms in and finishes doing up the suit, grimacing as it seals to his skin, expelling any trapped air. North jumps when something touches his thigh. Wash has decided to be helpful, it seems, and is attaching armor to his legs. Hands linger briefly, the touch almost too long to be innocent, as the rookie stares up at him from where he’s kneeling on the floor. Fiery fingers of want shoot through North’s belly, chasing away the lingering shards of icy jealous guilt. With Wash focused solely on him, looking so beautifully innocent on his knees, North is positive this can work. He’s just going to have to learn to share, because there is no way he’s going to lose the chance to completely corrupt this kid.

North stashes those thoughts away for later, focusing on getting armored up. As he’s pulling on his gloves, he shares a look with York. York’s eyes are absolutely smoldering with the sight of Wash on his knees. North has a feeling this spar is going to be all out. They need to burn off some sexual frustration. He quickly finishes suiting up, ignoring the small brushes of Wash’s hands down his calf and across his other thigh. North contains his disappointment when Wash raises to his feet, stepping into his boots before grabbing his helmet and turning towards the training room.

Wash stops him with a quick tug on his hand, leaning up to place another sweet kiss on his lips. Before he pulls away, Wash murmurs against them, “Good luck, North.”

“Thanks Wash.” North smiles at him before donning on his helmet.

“Awww. Why didn’t I get a kiss?” York whines.

“Because you’re the one who told me he doesn’t need luck. Besides, you already have your helmet on.” Wash explains over his shoulder, already heading to the viewing room. “Enjoy your spar guys.”

“He has me so frustrated right now.” York sighs. “Has anyone ever died of sexual frustration North?”

“I don’t think so. But you can consider this spar foreplay, because I’m going to fuck you in the shower afterwards.” North mutters aggressively as the enter the training room floor.

York lets out a low moan of anticipation. “Do you think we can convince Wash to join us?”

“I believe he has training. Lockdown with Carolina.” They both wince in sympathy, dropping into their customary stances. “But I’m sure he won’t mind. After all, he’s the one that told us to do whatever we were comfortable with, but that he didn’t want to be used to spice up our sex life. We’re giving him some time.”

“Right, of course he won’t have a problem with it.” They circle each other, trading a few test jabs, before York dances in with a series of blows that North easily blocks. He retaliates with his own combination of punches, which York deflects with natural ease. The man is incredible at hand to hand, a fact easily overlooked because of his specialty. North attempts to catch him with a kick and is surprised when it lands. However, that probably has to do with the fact that Wash’s voice is speaking quietly in their ears. Somehow he’s tapped into the private comm channel they use for sparring.

“Oops. Sorry ‘bout that York. I just wanted to tell you guys how good you look from up here.” Wash is using the same intonation he used in the mess hall. “Like really good. The way you move together is incredible. I wonder how well you’ll move with me?”

“Wash,” York hisses out softly. “What are you doing? We’re trying to train here.”   
They pick up where they left off, trading a few soft and predictable blows and manage to regain their rhythm before Wash speaks again. “What’s wrong York? Can’t concentrate when I talk to you? Am I throwing you off your game?” 

The teasing tone pauses North midway through a punch and seconds later he finds himself pinned to the floor in an arm bar. Floor work isn’t York’s specialty and North escapes quickly, he’s had years of practice escaping from South. North rolls back to his feet, dodging the quick punch York throws at him. Figures that the man would already be back in his stance.

“You had him on the floor, York. But I haven’t heard North call you daddy yet.” Wash’s voice dips into the realm of mocking, pushing York forward in frustration. North blocks a series of blows before York catches him with a kick, sending him staggering backwards. Wash’s voice returns. “It’s OK North, I’ll rub something on that after.”

“Shut up Wash. You’re being really distracting right now.” North growls as York catches him in the head with a punch. He immediately gets a block up to deflect the second one, retaliating with a swift kick that glances off York’s thigh, sending the shorter man back a step. His victory is short lived however, as York sweeps his feet out from under him yet again. York’s on top of him immediately, straddling his hips as he whales ineffectively at the guard North throws up over his head.

“Now that’s more like it.” Wash’s voice is appreciative in his ear. “York looks good straddling you, North. I wish I could appreciate his form from closer.” 

York groans in frustration, rolling his hips with North’s when North tries to buck him off. The pressure feels amazing, so North does it again. They both moan, which is barely concealed by the fact that Wash chooses that moment to speak again. “Looks like things are getting hard for you down there North, but I still don’t hear anyone crying daddy yet.”

“I’ll make you cry daddy if you aren’t careful Wash.” York growls through the comm channel. North uses his moment of distraction to flip them, twisting so suddenly York is under him. This lasts for all of 10 seconds, because by the time North has moved to pin York’s arms down, the other man has wiggled free and is back in his stance. North rolls backwards to avoid a kick, using the momentum to gain his feet.

“Aww. You had control there for a minute. I’d like to see York pinned down and at your mercy, North.” York halts mid step, laughing, at the same time North chuckles. Wash’s voice loses its sultry tone, taking on a confused, almost hurt note instead. “What’d I say? I’m pretty sure that wasn’t supposed to be funny.”

They begin the cycle again, North circling counterclockwise this time in an attempt to throw York off. York circles with him, shifting his stance even as he replies to Wash. “Sorry Wash. You were just very close to the truth with that last comment.”

There is a sharp intake of breath and then Wash is replying. “Oh. Oh that’s interesting. I’ll keep that in mind as this progresses.”

“Oh rookie, don’t even bother. We’re pretty much done here.” York backs up his claim with a flurry of well aimed kicks and punches, enough that North can’t block them all. He retreats, blocking the most dangerous ones and letting the others hit, until York has him backed against the wall. North gives one last attempt at retaliation, but York has him worn down by now and he knows it’s useless. Sure enough, York grabs his arm, twisting it behind his back and putting North back into the wall, face first. York slips a thigh between his legs to help him keep North pinned to the wall. North can’t stifle the moan the friction brings to his throat.

“It’s not over until he calls you daddy.” Wash reminds them, a definite smile in that voice. If North didn’t know Wash better, he’d insist the younger agent was smirking. York increases the amount of weight he leans on North, pressing his thigh firmer into North’s groan, eliciting another moan.

“Say the word and this will all be over, North.” York’s voice is low and throaty. North thinks it’s blatantly unfair of York to use his seductive voice at the same time he shifts the thigh between his legs. He increases the pressure again, rocking into North’s backside as does. “Tell us, who owns you and your gorgeous ass? Who’s your daddy, North?”

“Oh god. OK, OK you win.” North’s legs almost give out as he caves. York rocks into him again, causing him to let out a long and indecent moan. “Mmm, you’re my daddy York. You own me. My ass is yours.”

“Damn right I do.” York backs off of him, holding him up until they’re both sure that North has his feet under him. There’s silence on the comm for that time as well. However, as North shakes out his arm and starts for the locker room, Wash speaks up again.

“Oh god that was hot. York, you’re gonna have to hold him down for me sometime.” There is an edge of anticipation laced in with the unfettered desire Wash’s voice consists of. 

“As long as we get to do that to you too, Wash.” York agrees, before sighing wistfully. “I don’t often get to feel someone pinned beneath me. North’s just too big for that to last long. Not that I’m complaining of course. There’s something incredibly arousing about dating someone that can hold you down.”

Wash hums in approval, and the sound makes North shiver. “See you in the locker room? I’ll be down in a second to gear up for my session with ‘Lina.”

"Please." North doesn't mean for that single word to sound so needy. Nor is he really sure who or what it's directed at. But it elicits a small chuckle from York, and suddenly there's an arm around his waist. An arm North's truly grateful for, as his legs are shaking again. He's so wound up from Wash's constant chatter and the spar that his entire body is vibrating with desire. He pulls off his helmet to get some air. After a moment, York mimics him, before allowing his arm to wrap around North's shoulders this time. 

"I got you, North." York is whispering to him. "I'll make sure you're taken care of. But first we have to get back to the locker room and get our armor off."

"Wash is going to kill me with all his innuendo. That really wasn't fair, you know?" North lets York lead him off the floor. "Double teaming me like that."

“Oh I like the sound of that." Wash is leaning on the wall just inside the door. He's already managed to change into his undersuit in the time it's taken them to cross the floor. Wash’s always been a little body shy, and as a result he changes exceedingly fast. It's a shame really.

"You would." North grumbles, pretending to be annoyed. Wash pushes off from the wall, advancing towards him.

"I do. In fact I like it so much that I think I'm going to try it right now." North stumbles back a step when Wash practically launches at him,  retreating directly into York. He catches the youngest man by his hips, acutely aware that the power armor could break bones the moment he loses control, allowing himself to relax into York’s chest as he does so. Wash wraps his arms around North's neck, lifting himself on his toes in an attempt to kiss the taller man. An attempt that fails spectacularly; out of armor, North has almost a foot on Wash. Armor gives him a solid 5 inches of extra height, putting him at 7'3 to Wash’s 5'11. North can’t help the warm chuckle that passes through his lips when Wash attempts to give himself a boost by stepping on North’s feet. Pushing himself on his toes only makes Wash slip. North catches him lightly as he groans in frustration.

“Having trouble there Wash? Maybe you need a boost.” York suggests over North’s shoulder before setting his mouth to work against the back of North’s jaw. North grins down at Wash, tilting his head to give York better access.

“Not cool guys! I want a kiss Noorth!” Wash adds a pout to his whine. “Why are you so tall?”

“I guess you’ll just have to jump for it, then won’t you?” North suggests jokingly. “Consider this payback for all the teasing you did this morning.”

North’s heart sinks a little when Wash backs out of his grip. He’s about to apologize when Wash uses the momentum the few steps gave him to jump at North. Despite his shock, North catches Wash under his thighs as he wraps his legs around North’s waist. York chuckles into North’s neck while Wash grins at him in self satisfaction before sealing their lips together.

The kiss is desperate, filthy and absolutely perfect. North begs entry to Wash’s mouth, kissing more forcefully than he normally does, licking across Wash’s teeth and rubbing his tongue along the roof of the other man’s mouth. Wash moans into his mouth, hands scrabbling against his sides. They kiss for a while until a loud thunk and York’s startled yelp forces North to pull away. Wash looks dazed as he apologizes to York; sometime during their kiss he managed to unlatch North’s back piece and drop it on York’s foot. North lets Wash slide to the floor.

“You should probably get geared up. Don’t want to keep Carolina waiting.” North mutters reluctantly. “York and I need to shower.”

“Right. Gear. I should do that now.” Wash still sounds pretty dazed but he leans passed North to steal a quick kiss from York before heading back to his locker. North scoops up his back plate, striding to his locker to remove his gear. There is a stretch of silence as they all deal with their respective armor before Wash heads for the training room. He pauses at the door, turning to shoot them a wink before pulling on his helmet. “Have fun with your shower guys. Make sure you clean up after.”

* * *

The hot spray eases North’s aching shoulder. The muscles are slightly strained from how rough York went on him. He’s halfway through soaping up when he hears the quiet slap of bare feet on the damp floor outside. A moment later York slips in behind him.

“The locker room’s empty and there isn’t any training scheduled until after Wash and ‘Lina finish up. So we can take as long as you like and be as loud as you want.” York wraps an arm around his hip, mouth pressing against North’s trapezius. North doesn’t even attempt to control the shudder of desire that runs through him. Spinning carefully, so he doesn’t slip, North backs York against the wall of the shower in a possessive kiss. The other man reacts immediately, wrapping a leg around the back of one of North’s thighs to press their lower bodies together. York’s left arm snakes up under North’s arm as he braces them against the wall, fingers digging into the place his mouth was only moments before. His right hand finds its way to North’s ass, holding him in place as York grinds forward desperately.

York breaks the kiss, head falling back against the wall, when North meets his grind with a sharp thrust, lining up their cocks almost perfectly. North may be taller than him, but by using the support that the wall behind him offers, York discovers he can stretch out on his toes to keep their lower bodies flush. The second thrust has York clutching North tighter. The taller man nips York’s ear before whispering in it. “I want to fuck you into this wall, York. I’m going to make you beg for your release. You’re going to be screaming my name when you come.”

York’s legs tremble and North’s next thrust makes him lose his balance. If he wasn’t clinging to him so tightly, North is certain York would be on his gorgeous backside. As it is, only North’s firm stance saves them both from a nasty fall. Even so, York has to unhook his leg from North’s to stabilize himself again, shifting their alignment. The brunette whines at the lost contact before North steals his ability to do so with another kiss. North takes the opportunity to shift his position, pressing his forearm into the stall above York’s head, freeing his other hand to roam. He strokes down York’s side, feeling the other man’s muscles tense and quiver under his fingers as his hand works lower. His fingers trace the outline of York’s abs as North breaks the kiss to nibble along York’s jawline.

York’s hand drops from his upper back down to his hip, gripping tight when North’s fingers trace through the trail of hair below his navel. His other hand is still gripping North’s ass. His eyes slide closed when North kisses down his neck to suck on his pulse point. York is beautiful like this, North decides. He’s beautiful all the time, granted. But like this, with no cocky front, no air of overconfidence, no inert need to demonstrate his worth, well… York is almost at his peak. The only time North finds him more beautiful is when he’s coming apart at the seams with North’s name crossing his lips. North intends to see him like that soon. But first, let the begging commence.

York moans quietly when North teasingly slides his fingers along his shaft, barely touching him. Pressing his thumb lightly against the head, North smears the bead of pre-come over York’s frenulum as he traces down the underside of his cock. 

When North rolls York’s balls gently in his palm, tugging slightly, the other man finally gives him what he wants. The pleas fall from York’s lips like a prayer. “Oh god North. Please. Please touch me. I can’t take it anymore. Please. I need you so bad.”

North rewards the pleading by sinking to his knees as he strokes York’s cock slowly. North licks across York’s hip, chasing the V of his abdominal muscles until it connects with his inner thigh. North decides to indulge in his selfish thoughts of earlier, nipping at the soft skin beneath his mouth. York’s small intake of breath at the painful sensation is quickly overtaken by a moan when North sucks a bruise onto the same spot. “You belong to me, York. Remember that.”

York slides a hand into North’s hair, the other coming to rest on his shoulder. He tugs sharply. “Always. I’d never want not to. Now stop teasing.”

North huffs a satisfied laugh into York’s thigh, making the man quiver when his breath hits the mark left on his skin. He lets his left hand, the hand not preoccupied with York’s dick, move between his legs, massaging York’s balls before pressing against his perineum. That gains him a soft whimper, so North applies the pressure again as he laps at the leaking head of York’s prick. York’s hips snap forward as the hand tightens in North’s hair, pressing his cock passed North’s lips into his willing mouth. He moves his right hand to York’s hip, squeezing gently to inform York that North is still in control of this encounter, but allowing the man to continue to fuck his mouth. The fingers of his left hand slide across York’s perineum once more before dancing their way further back to circle his entrance. York shifts his stance to be more accommodating.

North drops his hand from between York’s legs, reaching behind him to scrabble for the little bottle of oil-based lube that York always keeps in his locker. York distracts him by thrusting deep, stopping just short of triggering his gag reflex. North meets York’s eyes and pushes at his hip, intending to pull all the way off his shaft, but before he can York is answering his unasked question. “The - mmm - lube is to your left a little. Oh, ah, yeah a little further back. God North, don’t you dare stop.”

Following York’s directions, North closes his hand over the lube. He squeezes York’s hip once before using both hands to fumble some lube onto his fingers, eyes never leaving York’s face. When North’s fingers find York’s hole again, he starts to fall apart. As the first finger enters him, North has to press York against the wall to keep himself from being smothered, reveling in the noises he makes. By the time North has two fingers knuckle deep and nudging York’s prostate, he’s removed his mouth from the other man’s cock and has his hand clamped firmly around it’s base, stopping York’s release. His own prick is leaking, and he’s so hard it hurts, but he still takes the time to add a third finger.

“Just, - mmm - please please… fuck me - oh shit - already.” York’s voice quavers between the moans, shaky and weak with need. This is one of North’s favorite versions of York, and despite his own need, he briefly contemplates keeping up his teasing until Wash finishes with Carolina. But no, he wants this to be all his. Wants to be the only reason York comes apart at the seams. This may be the last time he gets York all to himself like this. That thought alone drives him to his feet.

York moans in relief when North spins him so he’s facing the wall. He braces his forearms against the wall, letting himself be jostled into position, before glancing over his shoulder to watch North’s face as he slicks up his cock and pushes in. North takes a moment to let them both adjust, muttering filthy things into York’s ear. “I love it when you fall apart like this. When it’s me bringing you to a shaking mess. The taste of you in my mouth. All the little sounds you make. You’re perfect just like this York. So beautiful.”

York’s reply is interrupted when North withdraws slowly, only to thrust back in swiftly. He lets out a small, wrecked moan in York’s ear as he sets a brutal pace. It’s a good thing they don’t have training tomorrow morning, because North has a feeling York is going to be sore. He keeps up the pace, enjoying the sound of skin slapping and York’s quiet little pants, even as he adjusts the angle. They’ve done this enough times that North find’s York’s prostate pretty quickly. York’s mouth falls open as he lets his head drop down to rest on his forearms. A few more thrust has York keening wordlessly in pleasure. North reaches around to stroke him once, before clamping down again.

“Wha? Noorth no. Not again. Please not again.” York sobs into his his arms, orgasm cut off just before he could grasp it. “I’ll do anything. Please North, just let me come.”

“You aren’t being loud enough, York. I distinctly remember telling you that I wanted to hear you scream my name as you came.” North groans hitting York’s prostate mercilessly with every snap of his hips. “Try being louder, and maybe I’ll let you finish before I’m done with you.”

The threat alone would make York moan softly, but coupled with the pressure on his prostate, York’s moan becomes loud and wanton. North gives him a small stroke of encouragement as he continues to fill York’s ear with salacious words. “That’s right. Moan like a filthy slut. Inform the world of how much you like my dick up your ass York. Tell them how good you feel with me filling you up.”

North’s thrusts become erratic and more brutal as he draws closer to his orgasm. He lets off the pressure on the base of York’s cock, and in two strokes York is tightening around him, screaming North’s name as he comes hard against the shower wall. It only takes North a couple more thrusts before he chases York into completion, gasping out the other man’s name as he buries his head into York’s back.

North pulls out carefully before collecting York to his chest and tugging him back so they are both under the spray. They stand there, North whispering words of love and devotion into York’s hair as he cleans him off, until the shorter man has stopped shaking. When North is confident that York can stand on his own he lets go.

York immediately wraps an arm around North’s neck to pull him down for an exhausted kiss. Instead of pulling away after, he murmurs against North’s lips. “That was intense. By far some of the best sex I have ever had. I love you, babe. I love you so much.”

North smiles against York’s lips. “I love you too. Now let’s finish cleaning off so we can ambush Wash when he gets back from training.”

York pulls away to lean his head on North’s shoulder. “Mmm, good idea. But can we stay in here for a few more minutes. I’m pretty wrecked and you’re nice and comfortable.” 

They stand like that for a few minutes, York’s head tucked tightly into North’s shoulder, until the shorter man starts to shiver. North reaches over to nudge the temperature higher before turning York into the spray. He isn’t sure how long they stay like that, cuddled together under the warm spray of the shower, York dozing against his shoulder. It could have been a few minutes or an hour. But either way, he’s startled from his thoughts by a pair of arms slipping around his waist and a cheek being pressed into his back. He casually glances over his shoulder to stare into Wash’s deep brown eyes. 

“Did you enjoy yourselves?” He asks innocently, peaking around North’s side to steal a glance of York. His voice automatically drops in volume. “Oh, that’s adorable. You tired him out.”

Wash presses a kiss to the back of North’s neck before cuddling closer into his back. With Wash’s body heat pressed up behind him, North suddenly becomes acutely aware of how cold the parts of him not under the water are. Wash rubs his hands up and down the backs of North’s arms, warming them with friction. North hums his approval, leaning further back into the offered warmth. After a few moments, North shifts. “We should probably get out and get dressed soon. Don’t want York to miss lunch. You know how cranky he gets with low blood sugar.”

“Hmm, yeah. You guys have been in here a pretty long time. But my training session with ‘Lina ended earlier than planned. So we still have a couple minutes.” Wash trails a hand down North’s side, before standing on tip toes to press a kiss to his lips when North turns to look at him. “Let me just take a moment to enjoy this North sandwich. Although when I said I wanted to double team you, I had something more than just cuddles planned. I guess that’ll have to wait.”

North snorts. “Did you just call this a North sandwich?”

“I like sandwiches.” They’re still pressed close enough that he can feel it when Wash shrugs. He can also feel the hardness between Wash’s legs when he shifts to mutter in North’s ear. “Especially when they contain my two favorite people, completely naked and glistening. So yeah, North sandwich.”

North groans, prodding York carefully into awareness. “Sorry Wash, you’re going to have to find some new filling for your sandwich because we need to get dressed.”

York protests sleepily as North manhandles him away from the shower and towards the rest of the locker room. He pauses them briefly to steal a kiss off of Wash’s pouting lips and allowing York to do the same with a sleep ladened hello. Wash calls out over his shoulder as the leave. “I’ll be quick. Save a sandwich for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first attempt at smut, so I apologize for any inconsistencies or confusion.


	4. Cards and Cuddles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> North admits to being insecure, Wash continues to tease, and York just wants some cuddles. Is that too much to ask for? It is when Carolina declares a poker night.

People, York’s discovered, are very interesting. They are never what they first seem to be. A first impression is so often made from ridiculous situational observations, and even after that initial meeting, one’s perception of someone is skewed by their interactions. For example: the whole crew assumes that York is a massive tease. He knows that this is the impression he gives off, flaunts it even. It’s part of his flirtatious nature, he supposes. However, in this case the entire crew would be wrong.

York likes to go straight for the goods. He doesn’t fuck around when it comes to sex. Not that he doesn’t do foreplay or make sure his partner is taken care of. He’s a gentleman, OK? A courteous lover. He just likes to skip ahead to the best parts. The quicker he can get his partner off, the more likely they’ll have time for round two.

The crew, York included, also has assumptions about Washington. He’s the youngest Freelancer, the rookie, the baby of the group. He comes off as awkward, extremely self conscious, nervous and pretty inexperienced. Wash hasn’t developed the type of swagger the rest of the Alpha team has. His limited life experiences haven’t provided him with the necessary confidence. Nobody is quite sure how old Wash actually is but York would put his money on the kid entering the project directly after basic. And while Wash had to have been a pretty damn good soldier to get picked up by the Director, it was his youth that appealed most to York.

The thought of an inexperienced lover intrigued York. While he loved North and the sex that came with their relationship, the idea behind educating someone with very little previous experience was incredible. The opportunity to mold Wash into the perfect style of lover for them, to coach him through new sensations, to teach him both what stimulates them and himself… well it was incredible just thinking about it.

But the thing is, public interactions never provide you with an accurate representation of someone’s personality. This is a lesson that York learns after a frustratingly long day of sexually suggestive comments and a relatively short game of strip poker. Wash isn’t nearly as innocent as they’ve perceived him to be. In fact the rookie never stops running his mouth, making promises that York and North swore they’d hold him to earlier. A threat that North is probably regretting now as he gets worked over by their young lover.

Although, when York thinks about it, this situation isn’t completely out of left field, whatever that means. He’s never really been a baseball fan; not a respectable enough sport for his parents but too respectable for York to really appreciate. Wash has been expressing an increasing amount of confidence since the discussion that happened in the locker room a week ago. North, to York’s extreme frustration, has insisted they take it slow to test the waters. Something that, to York’s further displeasure, Wash agreed to immediately. That action alone added to the innocent Washington persona. However the increased confidence Wash demonstrated around North and York, coupled with the ever increasing amount of downright seductive comments falling from the youngest man’s lips, should have been a dead give away.

* * *

York still feels muddled from his time with North in the shower as he sets about dressing himself. In fact, he's pretty sure this is what the term 'fuck you senseless' must mean, because he's not sure if could muster the brainpower to string together more than a few words. And from the way that North is watching him with a satisfied smirk on his face, he probably knows it. The smug bastard has an extra spring in his step, something that York is going to lack for a few days. Not that he's complaining. North’s never been that dominating before, never denied York anything, let alone delaying his finish. In fact, York's pretty sure that's the kinkiest North's ever gotten in his entire life. York is hopeful that he will be able convince Wash to try some of his more adventurous ideas. If York has Wash on his side North is bound to say yes.

"York? How are you doing? Did I knock something loose up there during our shower?" North's voice is warm, brimming with amusement. York zips his pants as he turns his focus on North. He inclines his head to show North he's listening before lending his attention to putting on his boots. North continues after York acknowledges him. "Oh hey. There you are. I just asked you whether you wanted to wait for Wash in here or would you rather head to the mess before the good stuff is gone?"

"Oh, umm. Yeah let's head to the mess. We can grab some food for Wash too. I'm sure he'll appreciate it." York replies, struggling with his shirt. North grins at him. "Why don't you let him know we're leaving while I finish getting dressed."

"OK. I'll be back in a minute. You better be done by then." York can hear North's footfalls receding as he pulls the shirt over his head. He can hear them returning minute later as he continues to struggle with the stupid garment. North's laughter echoes through the locker room. "You realize you are putting that on backwards. Also, that is an arm hole, not a head hole."

"Don't laugh at me you asshole. I'm stuck in this damn shirt and it's your fault. I'm pretty sure you fucked me so hard my brain turned to mush and came out my dick." York flaps the one arm that managed to find its way into a hole as emphasis. North takes a step forward to help before a light chuckle rings out behind him.

"You know, I don't think that's how you wear a shirt. But good try there York." Wash strolls passed the two of them, tugging on the second sleeve of York's shirt as he goes. “I’m surprised you’re still here. Isn’t it pasta day today? At this rate all the lasagna is going to be gone.”

York stops struggling immediately, whispering in a low, urgent voice. “North. Lasagna. Help me now.”

York hears North sigh and then there are a pair of calloused hands sliding up his sides, before gently tugging the shirt off of his head. “Sometimes you are such a child. I can’t believe you need help getting dressed. Arms up.”

“Yes mom.” York obliges with a grin, stretching his arms up so North can slide his arms into the proper holes. “I should get you to dress me all the time. You’d make such a good nanny, North.”

Wash snorts. “I’m pretty sure that any nanny that fucks their charge in the shower would probably be fired. That act alone makes North a very bad nanny.”

“I should have left him trapped in the shirt.” North comments, heading for the hallway. York scrambles to follow him. “See you in a few minutes, Wash?”

“Yeah, be right there.” Wash calls out to their backs. “Save me some of the chicken pasta and garlic bread please!”

York strolls down the hall, his hand occasionally brushing against North’s, the taller man unconsciously slowing his pace to adapt for York’s shorter legs. A mindless stream of chatter flows between the two of them, York not even paying attention to his own words, let alone what North is saying. He’s still a little worked up from the shower, thrills running up his arms every time their hands brush, remembering the places they had been touching not even an hour earlier. North pauses in the middle of the hallway and York’s so caught up in his head that it takes him a half dozen steps to realize it.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying North?” York grins at him. “I’m still a little distracted from earlier.”

“Actually, it’s what you said.” North’s smile is tight, eyes hard and swimming with a touch of anger and hurt. “I was telling you that Carolina and South were going to spar this afternoon. I asked if you wanted to come because it should be a good fight. You responded with, ‘Yeah, that’ll be hot to watch.’ What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Well… For starters, you fucked my brains out and I’m still reliving it.” North’s eyes soften slightly at that and he takes a few steps closer to York. York shrugs at him. “Besides, your sister just looks like a female version of you, and any version of you will always be a little bit attractive to me. Even if she is a royal bitch half the time. And well… you know how hot Caro is. Who wouldn’t want to watch two girls go a few rounds on the mat?”

North makes a disgusted noise. “Ew. That’s my sister. Also, not interested in women. Too much curve, not enough dick… You are incorrigible, York. You’d fuck anything that moves wouldn’t you?”

“What?” York gasps, eyes widening. He’s pretty sure that North just called him a slut. And not in a sexy way. He struggles to keep the hurt out of his voice as he looks away from North. “Dude. That wasn’t cool North. I didn’t say anything about wanting either of them like that. I'm committed, in case you haven't noticed? What's with you lately? Jealousy is not a good look, man.”

North sighs. “You seem to be pushing all my jealousy buttons recently. I don’t like sharing if I can help it. I’ve shared everything with my sister my entire life and I finally thought I found something that was just mine… But now we have Wash and it’s just taking me a while to fully adjust. As stupid as it is, I’m worried that it’s not gonna be enough for you. And I can’t share you with anyone else, York. I like Wash. I might even love him. But I draw the line there.”

York can practically see the insecurity rolling off North in waves and it makes him uncomfortable. The sniper always has that calm, confident demeanor that reassures York that he’ll always be able to count on North having his back. York closes the distance between them and, after a quick glance to confirm the hallway is clear, takes North’s hand to pull him into a gentle and comforting kiss. When they break apart, he mutters assurances to North, subtly shifting their position so it doesn’t look so compromising. “I’m sorry North. I’m pretty awful at picking up emotional cues. You can always tell me when you are worried about something. Always. I love you and I promise you that you will always be enough. Wash is a piece of the puzzle, sure. But he’s not replacing you. He could never replace you.”

“I’m aware that you love me York. That was never in question.” North sighs, squeezing York’s hand a final time before letting it go. The next words that he mutters are so quiet that York is pretty sure he’s not suppose to catch them. “I just hope that it’s enough.”

York holds back a wince, pretending not to hear North’s near silent comment. He’s feeling decidedly uncomfortable and he doesn’t know how to make North feel any better if his previous attempt did nothing. “Let’s go grab some food now. Getting fucked into oblivion really makes a guy hungry.”

North manages a weak chuckle at that, falling into step with York as they round the corner and enter the mess. The smell of Italian food washes over the two of them, making York’s mouth water and North’s stomach to growl. York makes a beeline for the lasagna while North scoops up a couple of  trays, loading them with three plates of vegetables, an apple, a soda, a cup of coffee, and a bottle of water. “That garlic bread smells fantastic. Make sure you grab some for Wash. Pudding or Jello?”

“Jello. I still haven’t recovered from the last time we had pudding. That stuff is hard to wash out of hair, I tell you. Wash likes the green ones.” York watches as North places a lime and a cherry jello down on one of the trays. “Did you grab his stupid fruit? Also what’d he want for lunch? I wasn’t paying attention. I got you primavera.”

“He wanted the chicken pasta. I got him an apple.” North replies, heading for their usual tables. York grabs a plate of chicken penne with tomato sauce before adding a few extra pieces of garlic bread for Wash. Striding over to the table, he sinks into the bench beside North, pressing his leg into the blond’s as a show of affection. North has already sorted out the other food and quickly swipes his pasta from York’s tray, dumping a plate of veggies, the red jello cup, and the coffee onto his tray in its place. York shuffles Wash’s food onto the tray across from him just as said man comes flying through the doors and slides onto the bench in front of them.

“I’ve been here for the last 5 minutes, OK?” Wash huffs out before stuffing half a piece of garlic bread in his mouth. He scarfs down several forkfuls of pasta before slowing to a normal pace. York raises his eyebrows at North.

“Uhh, Wash? What’s going on?” North watches him curiously as Wash continues to eat looking innocently away from the door.

Connie comes barreling in a few minutes later, looking furious. "Where the fuck is he?"

York glances between Wash, who is using his fork to calmly spear a piece of chicken, and the heavily breathing Connie. "Uhh, what's happening right now?"

"Oh hey, Connie. How's it going?" Wash asks nonchalantly.

North stares at Wash for a few minutes before whispering. "So what did you do this time?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I've been sitting here the entire time. Like at least the last five minutes." He avoids Connie’s glare, grinning at York. "Right York?"

"Uhh yeah. Of course. Wash has been with us this entire time." York sucks at lying. He knows he sucks at lying. But he tries anyway. "He couldn't have done anything."

"Righht." Connie shoots York a disbelieving look. "I'm pretty sure I saw you Wash. So not cool."

"So what happened to your hair?" Wash grins up at her.

"Like you don't know." She frowns down at him, unimpressed. "Admit it, this is all your fault."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I've just been sitting here eating lunch." Wash gestures to his half empty plate. "The chicken pasta really awesome today Connie. You should try some."

"I think your hair looks amazing." York pipes up, drawing her attention away from the back of Wash's head. "It's totally punk. You should keep it like that."

"Are you making fun of me, York?" Connie’s fists tighten into balls. "Don't give me a reason to hit you."

"Aww Connie, you wouldn't hit little old me." York bats his eyelashes at her, looking positively ridiculous. "I wasn't making fun. I think it looks good."

"I agree." North's voice doesn't hold an ounce of deception and he doesn't blink as he meets Connie’s stare. "Very modern. These two would never be able to pull it off, but it suits you."

She studies him for a moment, searching his face for a nonexistent tell. When she doesn’t find what she’s looking for, Connie turns her attention back to Wash. “You’re lucky that one of your boys is such a good liar, Wash. York, you probably want to work on that…”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” York coughs out, recovering from the bite of garlic bread he swallowed too fast when Connie referred to North and him as Wash’s boys. “I don’t lie. I’m a terrible liar and everyone knows that. So why would I possibly attempt to lie to you? You’re a human lie detector.”

Connie smirks at that, gripping Wash’s shoulders tightly as she looms over him. “Hear that Wash? I’m a human lie detector. Just remember that next time you shave designs into the side of my head.”

“Maybe if you’d stop falling asleep in the alcove I’d stop messing with you.” Wash responds lightly, taking the last bite of his pasta.

Connie gives Wash another squeeze on his shoulders before heading towards the food counter. She looks back over her shoulder causally. “Poker tonight, wear lots of clothes and prepare to get spanked.”

Wash chuckles at that, lowering his voice so that only North and York can hear. “Spanking is definitely happening tonight. Just not from her, I hope.”

“Well, you have been pretty naughty today.” North looks contemplative as he studies Wash. York can see the burning desire residing in the sniper’s eyes as his eyes sweep over the youngest member’s body. A shiver runs up York’s spine when North drops his voice to a low growl. “I suppose some punishment is in order.”

“Be careful, North. Don’t make a guy a promise if you don’t plan on keeping it.” Wash dropped back into the suggestive voice he’s been using to tease them all day. Pulling the lid back from his Jello, he scoops out a spoonful, licking it clean lasciviously. York groans, burying his face in his hands. “Look at what you’re doing to poor York. He’s getting all worked up. Between that and all the naughty things the two of you did in the shower earlier… Well, I’m not sure that I’m the one that deserves the spanking. Maybe I’ll turn you over my knee, North.”

“Oh god. Please stop. I don’t think I can handle any more of this right now. Save it for this evening you two.” York mutters into his palms. At this rate he’s gonna be semi hard until Wash gets laid. The kid has quite the mouth on him. “Seriously Wash, save the comments until we can put your ridiculously lewd mouth to better use.”

Wash pouts briefly, before finishing his jello in a more decent manner. He takes a bite of his apple, absentmindedly licking a stray drop of juice from his chin as he watches Maine gesturing to Connie about something. York watches as Maine’s gestures get increasingly more distressed.

“Erm. I gotta go guys.” Wash’s voice echoes the concern that has etched itself across his face. Maine’s always spoken more loudly with body language than actual words, so Wash can probably read him like a book from here.

“What?” North’s head snaps up before he follows the gaze of his companions. “Oh. Yeah, OK. See you later? I think York and I might check out South and Carolina’s match a little later.”

York watches Wash drop off his tray and break into a jog to catch up with the two Freelancers now leaving the mess before turning his focus back to North. “Actually North… about that match. I was thinking, since we have a rare afternoon off, I might take a nap. I’m still a little wiped from earlier. And a little sore as well.”

“Oh. OK man. Do what you have to do.” York winces at the disappointment North doesn’t quite manage to mask. “I just asked because I thought it’d be a good excuse to spend some time together. But I can watch by myself. No big deal.”

“You could always come with me. Unless that’s too lazy for you?” York suggests with a shrug, attempting to act cavalier. So maybe he really wants North to come. He likes cuddles and North is always warm. He even allows York to tuck his cold feet under his longer legs. In fact, North is the best cuddle partner York’s ever had. “I wouldn’t say no to some serious cuddle time.”

A slow smile spreads across North’s face as he nods once. York pumps his fist under the table in victory, matching North’s smile with his own, before deciding he doesn’t want to wait anymore. They’re both pretty much finished lunch anyway. Practically jumping from his seat, he sweeps up his tray and bustles over to drop it.

North laughs quietly as he follows York’s example, dropping his tray as they head out. “Eager are we? Can’t deny that I’m excited for the alone time and cuddles. It’s been awhile since we’ve been able to curl  up together for a nap.”

“Hell yes I’m eager. You give the best cuddles ever and it has been way too long.” York struggles to keep the pout out of his voice. “Yours or mine?”

“Mine is closer. And it has my datapad just in case I can’t sleep.” York smiles at that, stepping a little closer to North. They reach his quarters quickly, York almost having to jog because of North’s large stride. North punches in his code, ushering York towards the bed and he closes the door.

“Man, I am so lucky.” York admits, smiling up at North from where he’s already sprawled himself over the bed. “I’m dating a gorgeous leggy blond. I swear your legs run from Mexico to Canada.”

“Hush you.” North hits him playfully. “Move over.”

York scoots over to make room for the other man, immediately snuggling into his side when North settles. He yawns before settling his head on North’s chest. Meeting the blue eyes of his lover, York sighs contently. “Will you read to me North? I’m still a little worked up from all the lecherous talk today.”

“Yeah, OK.” North responds, reaching for his datapad. He only has to read a few pages before York starts to drop off into sleep. North leans down to press a kiss to his lips. “Sleep well love.”

* * *

York wakes up to low voices and the sensation of calloused fingers massaging his scalp. He mumbles something incoherent, pressing his face into North’s chest as he drifts between sleep and consciousness. North's chest rumbles as he laughs, the hand on York's head stilling. Wash’s quiet words register in the back of his mind as he struggles with wakefulness. "He really is adorable when he's exhausted isn't he?"

York presses his face more firmly into North’s chest, enjoying the way it rumbles as he replies to Wash. “I think he’s always adorable. But yeah, he’s been pretty tired lately for some reason.”

York’s is, unhappily,  fully awake by now and there is no way he’s getting back to sleep. He tightens the arm he has tossed around North. Feeling grumpy, he grumbles at his two boyfriends. “Would you two shush. I’m tryna sleep.”

“Think you’ve had enough sleep.” Wash chuckles. “It’s time for dinner.”

“‘m not hungry. Lemme sleep more, kay.” York rubs his face into North chest, clinging tightly as North tries to untangle them. “Nuhhh. Don’t move.”

“York, stop being ridiculous. You have to let go of me now.” North attempts to pry the brunette's arm from his chest, but York has perfected the octopus grip. He wraps a leg around one of North’s longer ones. He isn’t going to make it easy for the man to leave. York’s head rises and falls as North releases an exasperated sigh. “No more cuddles York, stop it. Time to get up.”

“Noo North. I don’t wanna get up.” York’s whine spreads throughout the room. He’s aware that he’s being clingy and ridiculous, but it’s hard to give up the warmth and comfort that he feels right now.

“I know, but you kind of need to love.” North runs a soothing hand down his back as he manages to pull his leg free. “Like Wash said, it’s dinner time.”

“And then we have Team Building tonight. Do you really want Carolina to come in here while we’re cuddling and drag us out? You know she will.” Wash chips in, reaching over to give York’s calf a squeeze.

“Seriously York, let go.” North’s voice has taken on the no-nonsense tone he uses when York and South are being brats. His hand peels York’s arm away gently but firmly. Wash crawls across the bed to help, pulling York against his chest as North finishes untangling himself. York quickly switches tactics, hooking his arms around Wash’s neck.

“Fine. Wash can cuddle me instead.” York nuzzles into his shoulder, pressing his lips against the bare skin of his collarbone.

“Not an acceptable solution, York.” North states, tugging on the back of York’s shirt.

“You need to get up.” Wash plays with the strip of exposed skin on York’s lower back before placing a kiss in his hair. “If you wake up now I promise I’ll reward you later. Otherwise you’re just gonna have to watch me punish North.”

York hums into Wash’s neck. “Still not tempting enough to make me give up cuddles.”

“OK, this has gone on long enough.” North growls, shoving York and Wash off the bed. “Sorry Wash but it seems like the only way he’ll get off the bed is if you make him.”

Wash laughs from his position on the floor, sprawled out on top of York. He rolls to the left as York releases his neck to fold his own arms behind his head as a makeshift pillow. “Come on York. Let’s go get some dinner.”  
“Nah, I’m good. I think I’ll just take a nap on the floor.” He stretches out to prove his point.

“OK, well you’ll be staying here by yourself because North and I are going to go eat.” Wash picks himself up off the ground, using the hand that North offers him.

“Buzz kill. Can’t believe you two are just going to leave me here.” He glares up at them, eyes looking betrayed.

“Uhh, I’m pretty sure we’re asking you to come with us. Which means we aren’t leaving you anywhere.” Wash rolls his eyes. “Stop being so dramatic.”

“Fine. Go eat. Don’t fulfill my desperate need for attention and physical affection. I see how it is.” York huffs from the floor, waving his hand in dismissal as he plays up the drama. “I’m serious about not being hungry though. I’ll just stay here.”

North laughs at him. “Despite how utterly ridiculous you are, I love you. Would you like us to bring anything back for you?”

“Nah. Thanks though.” York pushes himself upright, wincing slightly. “Still a little sore and pretty full from lunch. Enjoy your dinner though.”

“Are you feeling OK York?” Concern is laced through Wash’s voice. York nods, plastering on a reassuring smile. North leans over Wash’s shoulder and the two of them study him carefully before Wash sighs. “Well… if you’re sure. We’ll bring you back something anyway, right North?”

“Of course. I don’t think we’d be able to deal with the whining when he gets hungry later.” North’s voice is playful. He leans down to mess up York’s hair. “Be a good boy while we are gone, OK?”

York’s eyebrows shoot up. “I’m not a dog, you ass.”

Wash laughs, shoving North out the door with a cheeky wink back at York. “If you’re a good boy I’ll give you belly rubs when I get back.”

York flips him off, watching as the door seals behind them. Sighing, he hauls himself to his feet before flopping face first on North’s bed, inhaling the scent of his lover. The man always smells fantastic. A mix of gunpowder, aftershave, and something distinctly North. It’s a smell that calms York’s nerves and pumps excitement through his veins. The one smell that York will never willingly let go of. A twinge of guilt sparks in his chest. He isn’t as tired as pretended to be. No, he just needs some time away from North’s concern and Wash’s suggestiveness to think.

York has always been an affectionate guy. He’s all about physical contact and gestures of affection. Feelings and emotions come a little tougher to him. Not as tough as they do to Wash, of course. He doesn’t go into full blown panic mode when feelings come into play or anything. He just has a hard time recognizing them sometimes. North’s earlier self consciousness hit him pretty hard. York still isn’t sure how to counter it. That’s one of the reasons why he stayed behind. Maybe if he gives North and Wash a little alone time North will stop being so worried. He can see the way the two look at each other but, for a man with such a high level of emotional intelligence, North is strangely oblivious of it.

York yawns into the pillow, eyes slipping shut as he mutters to himself. “Hopefully Wash can fix it before it becomes a problem.”

* * *

“Aww, look at him snuggling North’s pillow. How adorable.” York’s eyes snap open as the pillow in question gets yanked out from underneath him only to be brought back down on his head. “What do you think Carolina? Should I draw a huge dick on his face?”

“Go away South.” His voice is muffled by the pillow on his head. York smacks her hand away from it, sitting up once she is no longer pressing down on his head. He glances around wildly, taking in occupants of the room. South is looming over him with a terrifying grin on her face, Carolina a few steps behind her. “What the hell?”

North laughs from the doorway. “Don’t say Wash didn’t warn you. When you didn’t show up for dinner Carolina insisted we come wake you.”

“I find it especially interesting that you’re sleeping on North’s bed.” Carolina stares at him. “Care to explain?”  
“Didn’t sleep well last night and our spar this morning kind of wiped me. I fell asleep in the middle of our conversation. North was kind enough to let me sleep until Wash wandered in. They tried to wake me up but I guess I was just too tired.” York smiles at Carolina. “So what’s on the agenda for tonight?”

“Poker. You might want to go put more clothing on, or this will be over pretty fast.” South smirks at him. “I mean, since you can’t lie for shit.”

“Hmm? Yeah, obviously.” York yawns, rolling off the bed to his feet. He rolls his shoulders before stretching out his arms. He tips a wink at North. “But lying isn’t the same as bluffing South. You should know that; you lie like a dog with one leg but still suck at poker.”

South bristles, taking a threatening step towards him. “Is that a challenge, York?”

“Of course not. I’m not an idiot.” York snorts, schooling his expression into his best ‘do you believe this chick’ look. “Between Connie and Wyoming we wouldn’t even stand a chance.”

“Florida’s playing tonight.” Carolina’s quiet confession pauses York halfway to the door.

“Ah shit. I guess there isn’t really any point in putting extra layers on. Connie’s not going to be pleased by that.” York glances over at North before focusing on Carolina.

“Yeah, she was bitching to Wash about it last I heard.” South chuckles. “Rookie didn’t look too pleased either. It’s gonna be a short night for him.”

“That makes two of us.” York mutters. “Might as well get this over with.”

“Yeah.” Carolina sighs. “At least we won’t have to put up with childish antics for long this game, huh North?”

“Hmm? Oh yeah.” North nods. York can tell he’s preoccupied. Probably trying to plot out the best way to lose. It’ll be a lot easier now that Florida is playing. Usually on nights that the blue Freelancer sticks around everyone loses. He has an uncanny ability to remember every block in Jenga, guess the correct card in Fuck the Dealer, or detect the tiniest hint of deception, all while completely smashed. Wyoming once informed everyone that Florida is actually a lightweight; that doesn’t matter because anything he can do sober doesn’t seem the least bit affected by alcohol. The world really isn’t a fair place. Butch “Florida” Flowers is friendly and, to be frank, fucking terrifying.

“Feeling OK, bro?” South shoves his shoulder gently, moving passed him to follow Carolina out the door. “Kind of lost you there for a few minutes.”

York jumps on the chance to help North with a cover. “Wash asked the same thing earlier. He seems to think North might be coming down with something. North did look a little pale before our spar.”

“Yeah, York isn’t the only one that’s been feeling a little run down and exhausted recently.” North agrees readily. “I’m definitely not feeling a hundred percent. It might be a short night for me too.”

Carolina pauses to give North a concerned once over. “Don’t let it get too bad before checking in with medical. It wouldn’t do to have my best sniper out of commission.”

“If I feel any worse I’ll make sure to get it checked out.” North assures her, falling into step with York as he heads down the hallway.

York leans closer to North, pitching his voice low so it won’t carry to the other two. “You aren’t actually sick, are you? Cuz that would really mess with our plans for tonight.”

North’s eyes darken. “Not in the least. But Wash might need a medic when I’m done with him.”

“Oh man. I’m not sure if that should excite or scare me.” York shivers in delight. “Did he bother you at dinner?”

“The little tease dragged me over to sit with Connie and Maine. And then he proceeded to feel me up under the table.” North growls, his face showing actual displeasure. North steps around the corner, making sure they’re a safe distance from their two teammates. “The only way to keep his hand from wandering was to hold the damn thing. It made eating extremely awkward. And I’m pretty sure the two of them know something. Because Connie kept watching us and Maine chuckled when I jumped the first time Wash grabbed my leg.”

“Dude, I’m pretty sure I cop a feel on you all the time. My hand is permanently on your thigh during meals.” York doesn’t bother trying to mask the confusion in his voice. North isn’t supposed to shoot Wash down. That’s not how this is supposed to work. “I don’t see why it’s any different when Wash does it.”

“The difference is that your hand usually stays on my thigh.” The emphasis North places on ‘stays’ makes it obvious that Wash’s hands were in more nefarious areas than York allows himself at the table.

“Haha oh dear. Maybe we’ll have to work on keeping those hands still.” York suggests quietly as they enter the common room.

“My interest is piqued. We’ll discuss this later.” North looks pleased at the possibilities so York grins at him before steering them both to the drink table.

“Rookie makes the drinks tonight!” South proclaims, shoving Wash towards the drink table forcefully.

“But it’s strip poker. It’s not like we all have to have the same strength of drink for this game.” Wash protests, catching himself before he can stumble into the alcohol. South glares at him ineffectively. “I’ll make drinks for anyone that wants me to right now. But afterwards everyone is on their own.”

“I think most of us are drinking beer tonight anyway.” North supplies. “Including South. We can’t risk the loss of control when playing poker.”

“Yeah, yeah. I guess that’s true.” South concedes to North. “But next time, Rookie.”

“Sure South.” Wash rolls his eyes, turning his back on her as he makes himself a drink. Wash never drinks beer, even when they play poker. York figures it must be because he already knows how badly he’s going to lose.

The tables already been set up, so York slips into his customary position beside Carolina. A few minutes later North drops into the chair beside him, handing him a cold beer without a word. He’s already adopted his game face and is surveying the room to assess everyone’s moods. York doesn’t even bother reading the room anymore. He was shit at it to begin with and, even if he did have the necessary skills, it wouldn’t help his terrible poker face anyway. Wash plops down between Connie and Maine, directly across from York, throwing him a wink and effectively ruining any chance York has at concentrating.

Leaning in close, North mirrors York’s thoughts. “That’s going to be extremely distracting, isn’t it?”

“The cheeky bastard chose there on purpose.” York replies to Wash’s wink with a playful glare. “But I suppose it’s better to have him there than within touching range. With the way he’s been acting today, I doubt he’d even hesitate. Not with alcohol clouding his judgement.”

“Oh like you’re one to talk.” North mutters back with a grin. “No crawling into my lap half clothed this game. Maybe just stick to a few beer. Wouldn’t want you too inebriated for the after party.”

“What are you two whispering about?” Connie calls across the table.

“Sharing is caring, so share with the rest of the class you assholes.” South snarks, accepting Connie’s high five.

“Oh it was nothing.” York says casually. “Just plotting out how best to get you out of those clothes Connie.”

“Haha that will happen right around oh... never?” The cockiness in Connie’s voice is unmistakable. She elbows Wash playfully. “This one is going to be out of them in no time though. How often do you think we can make him blush like a twelve year old girl?”

True to form, Wash flushes. York watches with fascination as his freckles become more obvious. It’s the entire reason why York teases Wash so much in the first place. North shifts subtly and York mentally curses himself for spending entirely too long staring at Wash. He tunes back into the conversation.

“I’m not cute. Stop calling me cute.” Wash is protesting vehemently as South ribs him. Maine’s chuckle drowns out the rest of the words.

“Well folks, as fascinating as Wash’s skin tone is, I believe we are here to play some poker.” Florida’s chipper voice cuts through the conversation. “Shall we get started ladies and gentlemen? I’ll deal.”

It’s clear to York after a few hands that Wash is having an exceptionally bad night. His lack of focus is, unfortunately, ruining York’s as well. Instead of paying attention to the other Freelancers, York find himself ever distracted by the flush creeping up Wash’s neck as loses his shirt. North doesn’t seem to be faring that well either.

“Damn. I suck at this game.” Wash groans, tossing the shirt on the table. “By far the worst version of poker ever invented.”

“Tough luck, laddie.” Wyoming nods in fake sympathy, accent getting thicker as he drinks. “But you’ve still got half your kit. You aren’t quite in your pants yet.”

Wash quirks his eyebrow. “Right. Whatever that means.”

“Someone’s grumpy. I bet a hug would make things all better.” Florida moves to stand up, a mischievous and slightly menacing smile spreading across his face. He hasn’t lost a single article of clothing yet, probably won’t until half the players have left the game. “Come over here and I’ll make all your problems go away kiddo.”

“Erm. No thanks Florida. I think I’m OK.” Wash holds his hands up in surrender. Florida settles back into his chair with a huff.

“Tchh, too bad.” Florida plays up his disapproval and disappointment. “I’m sure a nice hug would have helped you relax enough to focus. All that tension isn’t good for someone as young as you, Wash. It will make you stiff. And a boy like you… Well I’m sure you’d like to stay flexible.”

The flush spreads again as Wash struggles to come up with a response to that. All he manages are a couple of stuttered words in protest before Carolina saves him from further embarrassment by dealing the next hand. A half dozen rounds later has Wash muttering quietly as he bows out.

“Sorry guys, I’m out.” Wash doesn’t look as embarrassed as he normally gets, York notes. The blond man downs the rest of his drink as he stands. A quick glance across the table communicates Wash’s impatience to both North and York, and then he’s heading out of the room with a disgruntled “see you soon.”

The game continues, with Florida raking in most of the hands. Without Wash the losses spread out a little more. Even so, York only lasts another half hour before he calls it quits. He’s actually wearing underwear this time and he isn’t about to lose it by being too confident. Especially not after the lecture North gave him last time about going full monty. North doesn’t like it when other people eye up York’s bits. But hey, he gets that. He wouldn’t be pleased with other people staring at Norths junk or checking out Wash. So he’s happy to accommodate, even if it means an uncomfortably warm crotch.

“Bowing out so soon, York?” South teases, words slurring slightly. Despite North’s suggestion to take it easy, South has slammed back a fair amount of beers. “You aren’t naked yet though. Don’t be a pussy York.”

York snorts, leaning over North’s lap to steal South’s beer. He purposely lingers as he drinks it, enjoying the brush of his arm against North’s bare chest as he balances himself on North’s still clad thigh. “A guy knows when he’s beat, South. It’s highly likely that I’m only leaving a round earlier than I’d have to anyway. And if I drink anymore I’ll be cuddly. So unless you’re offering naked cuddles, I think I’ll take my leave.”

“And if I was?” South challenges, not willing to give up just yet. York can feel North grow tense underneath him. South never did know when to quit. “If I promised to cuddle with you, would you stay for a couple more rounds?”

“I’m not stupid, South. There is no way you’d keep that promise.” York refuses to rise to her bait. He isn’t going to take this conversation any further. Especially not with how distressed it’s making North. “Besides, I’m pretty sure I’m not your type. Lacking in the chest area and all that.”

“OK, you got me. But I’m sure Carolina would stand in for me?” South suggests, in an overly innocent tone.

“Not going to happen, York.” Carolina shoots that suggestion down immediately, something York is extremely grateful for.

“Darn. Then I guess I’ll just have to be on my way.” York straightens, removing himself from his sprawling position with a squeeze to North’s knee. He tosses a salute at Florida. “Knock ‘em dead, buddy.”

“Oh don’t you fret, I will.” A dangerous grin flashes across Florida’s face, causing chills down York’s spine. It dissipates almost immediately, replaced by the man’s normal, too friendly, smile. “One day I’m going to corral  you and young Washington into a room and teach you to play better.”

“Right. Well… I’ll just be off now. Good luck guys.”  York quashes the feeling of alarm that Florida’s statement causes. He strolls casually out the door, allowing his mind to focus on finding Wash. He’s determined to get some cuddle time in before North shows up and things get heated.


	5. Youth and Experience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash learns about North's insecurities, York gets some cuddles, and North finally makes Wash eat his words, among other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's a little shorter than last weeks. But really.. 4500 words of it is complete smut so I'm not going to apologize.

Wash has always believed the saying 'appearances can be deceiving’; he's living proof of that. He is well aware of the misconceptions his appearance brings. People see his youth and think inexperience. They see optimism and assume naivety. They notice the way he blushes and stutters in certain sexual situations and infer innocence. Those same people push aside the obvious skill, the confidence, he demonstrates in the field. Yes... appearances are often deceiving, as York and North are soon to find out.

Wash has been teasing and testing all day. He knows that his suggestive comments and seductive touches have been driving North and York mad. He’s aware of the trouble he might be getting himself into if things don’t go according to his plan. But most importantly, he’s almost positive that neither of his targets have fully picked up on the game he’s playing. His prey doesn’t realize that he’s been setting a trap all day. They don’t even realize they are prey, thinking instead that they are the hunters. A misconception that Wash is looking forward to destroying.

* * *

Wash has been terrible at poker his entire life. His capacity for deception is nil; something about his face being too expressive. Normally he’d feel a little self deprecating about going out so fast but today isn’t a normal day. He has things to prepare for and promises to keep. So when Wash throws down his cards for the final time this game, he does so with less disappointment than usual. With a pointed look at North and York, he throws a quick farewell to the table and strolls out the door in his boxers.

Stopping by his room, he pulls on some pyjama pants and t-shirt before heading to the mess for a couple extra bottles of water. He grabs a few apples while he's there; York never had dinner and he plans on using a lot of energy tonight. The matter of sustenance taking care of, Wash heads back to his room to make sure the essentials are well within reach. He sets a bottle of lube and some wet-ones on the night table with the pilfered supplies from the mess. Preparations complete, Wash spreads out on his bunk to wait.

He doesn't have to wait long. After 15 minutes of staring at the ceiling and plotting his plan of attack, a knock sounds on the door. Rolling off the bed, Wash heads over to open it. York is standing there in sweats and a hoodie looking absolutely beautiful.

"Hey Wash." The brunette greets him with an easy smile, hands shoved casually in the pockets of his sweater. Wash reaches out, tangling a hand into the material covering York's chest to tug him into the room. He comes easily enough and even closes the gap between them for a slow kiss. When they break apart for air, York takes a step back, putting on a serious face. "North is probably going to be another half hour at the least. So I thought we'd have a quick chat about a few things and then cuddle til he gets here."

Wash nods, walking across the room to collapse back onto the bed. He pats the spot beside him, keeping his voice teasing when he replies. "Might as well get comfy if we're gonna do the serious conversation thing. I promise to keep my hands to myself until you're done and everything."

York hesitates only briefly before following the blonde’s lead and flopping down on the bunk beside him. He doesn't look at Wash when he starts talking, instead focusing on choosing an apple off the table. There is a miniscule amount of anxiety tinging his words. "I just want to cover a few things so that everything goes smoothly tonight. North is a little possessive of the things he cares about, including me. And probably you as well, although you haven't really given him much of a reason to be jealous yet. But either way, our relationship has him a little out of his element."

"OK. How do you propose we fix that?" Wash notices when York tenses at the nervousness that has suddenly re entered his voice. He quickly rushes on, hoping to set the other man at ease. "I don't want him to feel like I'm stealing you or getting in the way. This isn't going to work if he gets jealous every time I touch you."

"I know Wash." York sighs, slipping his arm around Wash's waist and taking a bite out of the apple. The shorter man shifts restlessly while York continues to munch on his apple and contemplate the problem. When the apple is finished, York tosses it across the room, landing it directly in the trash can before pulling Wash closer. He snuggles into York's side, some of the nervousness leaking from him when York continues. "But I think maybe if we both focus all our attention on him for a while, he'll feel more confident. And maybe we should kind of ease him into us touching each other before we do anything too involved."

"That sounds doable." Wash flops backwards, pulling York with him. The taller man bumps his head on the wall with a curse. "Oops! I'm sorry York."

"Don't worry about it." The answer comes out as a rueful chuckle before the taller man maneuvers them so they are lying lengthwise on the bed. Wash allows York to manipulate him onto his side, before pressing firmly back into the other as they spoon. Lacing their fingers together, Wash relaxes fully into the embrace. They lay together like that for some time, chatting about little things before Wash feels York drop into a light doze, head tucked neatly over his own.

* * *

A soft knock on the door makes York startle behind him. Wash gently untangles himself from the sleepy man to answer it, allowing York a moment to adjust to wakefulness. Hitting the door release, Wash leans against the frame to wait as the door opens with a soft woosh, revealing a mostly naked North. Before Wash can offer a greeting, North steps forward to drag him into a heated kiss, closing the door behind him. Wash allows North control of the kiss as he backs the larger man towards the wall. North has other ideas, however, and attempts to direct Wash towards York and the bed. Wash distracts him by running a hand down North’s side teasingly. The resulting shiver is enough for Wash to assert control again, and he manages to back North into the shelving inlaid into the wall, mouths still connected.

One of North’s hands comes up to tug sharply at Wash’s hair as he devours the younger man’s mouth, the other sliding under the back of his shirt to grip the freckled skin and pull them flush. Wash allows this brief derailment of his plans, exploring the muscles stretching over North’s sides with teasingly light touches. His hands get halfway up North’s ribs before the other man jumps, dropping his hands to his sides as he huffs into Wash’s mouth. Curiously, Wash touches more firmly and receives a muffled laugh for his efforts. North pulls away with a glare.

Warm air tickles Wash’s ear at that moment, making him start. York’s hands join his in caressing North’s creamy skin as his lips move against the shorter blonde’s ear. “North is a little bit ticklish in the rib area.”

His tongue flicks out to quickly trace the shell of Wash’s ear before blowing softly. He seems satisfied when Wash shudders between them and presses closer to lean over him and seal his lips against the tallest of the three’s. Wash takes advantage of his position to drag a hand up North’s chest to roll a nipple between his thumb and finger as he latches his mouth onto the hollow of the man’s throat. The taller blonde’s head collides with shelf behind him as he breaks away from York’s kiss with quiet moan.

“Oh god Wash.” North’s voice comes out completely wrecked, hands white knuckled, gripping the shelf behind him as his legs start to shake. A freckled hand tweaks his nipple again as the mouth on his neck pulls away with a wet squelch. Wash grins up at North briefly before swooping down to lap at the other bud of flesh, grazing it lightly with his teeth. His other hand occupies itself by pressing against North’s groin as the two other men enjoy the chorus of tiny noises falling from the lips of their lover. Behind him York chuckles, hands dropping from North’s body to pull up Wash’s shirt. 

“You seem entirely too overdressed for this party, Wash.” A hum of agreement from North couples York’s amused statement. It’s quickly followed by a disappointed groan as Wash pulls away to shed the garment in question, as well as the rest of his clothing. York shifts to the side, sinking his teeth into the patch of skin where North’s neck meets his shoulder. Releasing the flesh from his teeth at the sniper’s gasp, York sucks a bruise on top of the bite. The moan he’s rewarded with only grows louder when Wash licks a strip across the other blonde’s abs. He’s forced to pin North’s hips to the wall when the nip he places on one of them sends the other man bucking forwards. He glances up briefly when both men let out twin groans of desire.

“Jesus Wash. Do you know how good you look like that?” North’s voice is dark, matching the look in York’s eyes. “You look so delectable on your knees in front of me.”

That tone shoots straight to Wash’s dick and he shifts subtly, aware of the blush spreading across his cheeks. North removes a hand from the shelf, stroking across the kneeling man’s cheek before cupping the back of his head to pull him forward. Wash goes willingly, pressing his face into North’s clothed crotch. Wash slowly slides his mouth along the tented portion of North’s boxer-briefs, noticing the circle of wetness left from the leaking member beneath. He pauses to place a soft kiss on that spot, allowing his tongue to dart out for a quick taste. Immediately after, he drags his tongue up the fabric and all it incases, stopping just above elastic holding them snugly on North’s hips. Nipping and sucking, Wash traces the path that the top of the man’s underwear provides, ignoring the fact that York is greedily swallowing down North’s moans. He continues to do this until the hand cupping his head nudges him lower.

York’s mouth muffles whatever pleas are uttered when Wash once again places his lips over the tip of North’s clothed erection. Sucking softly, he rubs his tongue along the underside of bulge, one hand releasing North’s hip after drawing a small circle there with his thumb. Wash traces that hand along the clothed thigh in front of him, dipping in between long, trembling legs to press lightly against his lover’s balls. North jerks, his audible moan causing Wash to look up. He’s greeted by two sets of hungry eyes staring down at him as he continues to dampen the front of North’s boxer-briefs with his saliva. He keeps meeting their gazes as he licks another wet strip down to the base of the clothed cock before him. Satisfied that he’s wet the area covering all the fun parts, Wash pulls back, stopping to puff hot breaths over North’s tip.

The hand cupping the back of Wash’s head tangles into his hair, tugging him backwards slightly. North’s voice is a low growl of need. “Stop teasing, Wash. You did enough of that earlier, now it’s time to put your filthy mouth to work.”

Discarding his underwear, North has his dick free and into Wash’s open mouth before the younger man can fully voice his reply. A sharp thrust has Wash choking as the taller man’s considerable length gets buried in the back of his throat. Wash barely has time to breath before the next thrust slides down his throat. North is so caught up in the wet heat of the mouth he’s slamming into that he ignores Wash’s desperate squeeze to his hip. The slighter man pushes awkwardly against the man fucking his throat, nails biting into the flesh of North’s hip as he tries to find the leverage to gain a couple lungfuls of air. As hot as it is to be facefucked, Wash isn’t fond of blacking out from lack of oxygen.

Just when Wash thinks he might actually lose consciousness, York speaks up. “North, I know Wash has you all wound up but you might want to slow down a bit. As incredibly arousing as this is to watch, I think he might actually pass out if you continue like that.”

North makes a startled noise in the back of his throat, guiltily meeting Wash’s eyes as he eases him back. Wash sucks a huge lungful of air in, blinking back unshed tears. North brushes away the few that managed to leak out softly. “I am so sorry Wash. I lost it there for a moment. I don’t think I’ve ever been that wound up in my life.”

“It’s fine. Not the worst I’ve ever had.” His voice come out croaky, so Wash clears his throat before giving North a watery smile. He traces his fingers across the indents his nails left. “Sorry about the scratches.”

North’s eye widen in surprise as York inhales sharply. Concern laces the next words that stumble out of the older man’s mouth. “Not the worst? What are you…? Oh Wash.”

York reaches for him, but Wash refuses to acknowledge their concern. He does the only thing he can think of to distract the sad blue eyes staring down at him, pushing forward to take North back into his mouth. North starts to pull away before catching York’s eye. Wash can feel them having one of their silent conversations above his head so he drags his tongue against the underside of North’s cock. He’d prefer their attention to be on the spectacular blow job he intends to give than on his past. It’s not like he had a tragic childhood or anything. He’s just nowhere near as innocent as these two believe he is.

The tongue trick works perfectly, pulling a soft whine from North as his hand travels back up to tangle in Wash’s hair. Even so, the other man stays perfectly still this time, handing over all control to Wash as he relaxes against the shelves. Sucking gently, Wash moves forward, engulfing more of North’s length before bringing his hand into play. Gripping the base firmly, he times the pace of his strokes to match the motion of his head, wrist flicks matching the tongue twirl he does when he pulls up far enough that only North’s tip remains in his mouth. Wash is so concentrated on making the shaky legged man above him come apart that he almost jumps when York places a kiss on his neck. He allows his hand to slide further up the shaft as he pulls off with a little pop, glancing over his shoulder at the brunette trailing kisses and nips across his shoulder. He allows the other man to pull him into a quick kiss as his hand works over North’s dick.

“Feeling lonely, York?” Wash asks when the other man breaks their kiss to continue his nibbling. He quivers when York find a particularly sensitive spot on the back of his neck. An impatient noise from above has Wash sealing his lips over the tip of North’s cock again, sucking hard.

“Hmm a little I suppose.” York says between the little bites that have started moving down Wash’s back. “But mostly it’s just because your freckles got too damn tempting and I couldn’t resist tasting them any longer.”

Wash hums his approval around North’s dick, resulting in a tug on his hair. The sniper’s legs are trembling again and he’s starting to let out another series of tiny moans. Wash recognises the signs and reapplies himself to the task ahead. He finally allows the man in his mouth to slip further back, swallowing around him. Ignoring the remaining discomfort from North’s previous assault on his mouth, Wash bobs his head shallowly, allowing the tip of the member in his mouth to bump the back of his throat on each pass. Swallowing occasionally, Wash strokes the rest of the shaft deliberately, driving North closer to his climax.

“Holy fuck. Mmm - Wash. Oh god I’m - ahh.” The incoherent sentence is all the warning Wash needs to move back slightly. He adjusts his suction, hand stroking North to completion. Wash swallows his seed, hand milking out every drop before releasing him. York moans behind him, hand coming up to pull his face towards him before Wash can swallow all of it.

York covers Wash’s lips with his own, licking into his mouth to taste North’s leftover essence. Wash pulls away after a moment, breathing heavily. York grins at him before looking up at North. “Oh god that was so hot. I’m probably gonna dream about that for ages.”

North sinks to the floor, reaching out to pull his two lovers towards him. Wash crawls into his lap accepting the sloppy kiss he’s offered. He’s still achingly hard and he has a feeling York is as well. But if North wants cuddles then Wash isn’t going to say no; not when his throat is so sore and he’s feeling this drained. York settles in behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist as he presses into North’s side, leaning his head on the taller man’s shoulder with a sigh. North reaches for Wash’s neck, pressing fingers into his freckled throat and stroking softly. Wash tips his head back, allowing better access for the impromptu throat massage he’s receiving.

“I’m really sorry about being so rough earlier Wash.” North apologizes again, voice soft as his large hand works wonders on Wash’s sore throat. York drops a kiss to his shoulder, fingers tracing along a scar across his ribs. Wash nods in acceptance, enjoying the silence that follows. It doesn’t last long before North’s concern breaks through again. “Are you going to talk about it? We’re here to listen.”

“Now isn’t the most opportune time to have a deep conversation like that.” Wash sighs, holding back his annoyance at North’s obsession over the mental well being of those he cares about. Running a hand down the broad chest his side is pressed into, Wash wiggles purposefully, feeling North’s member jump in response. The hand comes away from his throat to hold him still as blue eyes shining with concern meet his brown eyes. Wash is certain his pupils are probably still blown with desire, something that North no doubt notices, as some of the concern fades. Not enough for Wash’s satisfaction however, so he compromises. “I promise we can talk later. Once we’re all satisfied. But I still have promises to keep, if I remember correctly. So let’s play doctor now. Tell me North, where does it hurt?”

The reaction Wash’s question garners from North is a satisfying poke in the ass with his hardening cock. He grinds down, stealing the moan off of North’s lips as the large pale hand that was last on his throat grips his thigh tightly. A small huff of annoyance sounds behind him and then York is pushing him bodily from North’s lap and taking over the kiss. Wash reaches over to pinch one of the tanned man’s nipples in retaliation and receives a hiss of pleasure for his trouble. York breaks the kiss after thoroughly tasting North’s mouth, allowing Wash to tug their tallest lover forward so he’s spread out across the floor.

“The patient needs to lay down for this part of the examination.” Wash states cheekily, fingers trailing down North’s legs as he takes in the view. York is kneeling beside the head of their lover, one hand combing through his blonde hair while the other traces the kiss marks on his throat and neck. “Shit you guys are gorgeous. How did I get so freaking lucky?”

York trades a smile with North before replying. “It’s the freckles. They really are way too tempting Wash. It isn’t fair to add freckles on top of how adorable you are.”

Wash looks away when he feels the heat cross his face, attempting to hide the blush staining his cheeks. North’s deep chuckle pulls his attention back, however. “It’s even better when you blush like that. Makes me want to do so many filthy things to you. So you better get started, or you’ll find yourself being the focus of my ministrations instead.”

Wash’s only response is to knead into the flesh of North’s calf, hands confident and touch firm. The resulting shiver is all the encouragement he needs to continue the massage. After he’s finished working the area with his hands, he shadows the path his fingers took with his mouth and tongue, memorizing each band of muscle as he travels his way up North’s legs. Wash takes note of North’s sensitive areas as he goes, like the spot behind his left knee that startles a groan out of him or the patch of skin on his inner right thigh that makes his dick twitch. For the entire time Wash is working on North’s legs, York is murmuring dirty suggestions to them, most of which the freckled blonde ignores. But as he’s running his hands over North’s abs - not quite as defined as York’s or his own but still impressive - thumbs pressing into the lines the muscles follow, something the brunette says lodges in his brain and draws a needy moan from his lips.

“What do you think North? I think he’d look fantastic riding your cock.” York’s voice is lecherous, dripping with want.

“Oh god yes. Please, yes.” North tenses under Wash’s hands, voice coming off desperate. If Wash wasn’t already hard and dripping that would have done it. As it is, York’s answer almost has him losing it.

“Well then, maybe I should open him up for you then. After all, it seems like the two of you are a little busy.” Wash can tell there is a pleased grin plastered across York’s face without even needing to look. He dips his tongue into North’s navel before wording his reply.

“Lube is on the side table. Be gentle, OK?” There’s a nervous tinge to his voice when it comes out, making him realize that maybe the earlier rough treatment did affect him more than he thought. York’s warm hand travels soothingly down his back as the man pauses on his way to procure the lube. 

“Don’t worry Wash. I’ll go nice and slow so I don’t hurt you, OK?” The locksmith’s hand presses hard enough to send him toppling over onto North. Ever the opportunist, York grabs a handful of Wash’s ass before moving away. “I promise to make you feel good as I stretch you out for North.”

Wash shifts to a more comfortable position, spreading himself across the man beneath him as he presses their groins together. The consequent moan North releases at the contact causes the grin to return to his face, and Wash presses down harder as he finds the perfect spot. Propping himself up on his elbows, Wash discovers he can keep up the incredible pressure while continuing on with his massage. Smoothing his palms over North's pecs, he digs his fingers in gently, enjoying the way the muscles beneath them tense and quiver. When Wash brushes his fingers across the previously abused nipples, North grabs his hips and arches into him, increasing the delicious friction and causing their shafts to slide together. Wash moans softly, repeating the action and drawing a long, low moan from North as well.

A hand glides across Wash’s ass, signaling York’s return. He runs his hands over both of Wash’s cheeks before slipping a hand between his legs, tracing his fingers along his balls and perineum. North thrusts up against him again and Wash flushes deeply at the needy moan that the actions cause to fall from his lips. York’s finger strokes upwards to circle Wash’s opening, rubbing roughly. “You have an amazing ass Wash. I can’t wait to see North buried in it.”

Wash pushes back on York’s finger desperately, arms giving out and sending his crashing onto North’s chest. The man below him gives a startled laugh before sliding his hands up and down Wash’s sides, shifting to slowly drag their cocks together again. “Hey there Wash. Feeling a little needy? Ready for York’s fingers?”

Whining his agreement against North’s chest, Wash bites down lightly when York’s lubed digit presses in slowly. North’s hands rub soothingly up his back and York palms his balls, rolling them gently in his hand as a distraction. Once Wash fully relaxes against the intrusion, he pushes back against York’s finger, informing him that it’s alright to move. Taking the hint, York twists his finger, slowly pushing in further as he presses and stretches Wash open. When York’s finger finally finds that little bundle of nerves, Wash breaks out with incoherent cursing, hips lifting in an attempt to maintain the sensation.

“Mmm, the sounds you make are delicious Wash.” York purrs at him, adding another finger and scissoring them before searching for the same spot. He applies more pressure this time, stroking firmly as Wash turns into a shuddering mess against North’s chest. North shifts below them, adjusting himself so he can cover Wash’s mouth with a sloppy kiss, devouring the wanton moans that follow when York withdraws to add a third finger.

When Wash can do little more than pant into his mouth, North breaks the kiss to bite down on his neck. The low moan that falls from the shorter blonde’s lips turns into pleas with a twist of York’s fingers. “Please York. North. I need - oh god, oh god, oh - more. Please! North I need you. Mmm - Need you so bad. Ahhh - holy shit York!”

York’s fingers pull out with a wet pop. He wipes his fingers clean on Wash’s discarded shirt before helping Wash get to his feet. He catches the younger man when his legs give out as North scrambles onto the bed, slicking himself up with the lube he snags on the way passed. York’s breath stirs Wash’s hair when he breathes into his ear. “Where do you want him, Wash?”

“Mmm, his call.” Wash shivers as York’s hand runs down his side to clutch his hip. He allows himself to be steered towards the bunk, where North has propped himself up against the wall,. Crawling across the mattress, Wash presses forward for a quick kiss before turning to face York. Straddling his taller lover’s lap, he slowly sinks down on North’s cock until it is fully sheathed inside him. York follows Wash’s path across the bed, stealing his moan with a searing kiss.

“It’s too bad neither of you can see each other’s faces.” York lets out a chuckle filled with desire. “Wash, North looks like he’s going to explode. You should probably consider moving now.” 

North’s moan of agreement as he bounces Wash gently in his lap has the freckled man raising himself off of North’s length before easing down, setting a lazy pace. Placing one hand against the bed for balance he reaches for York with the other, closing his hand loosely around the tanned man’s dick and matching his strokes to the lazy pace he’s established with North.

North raises his hips in an attempt to fuck Wash harder but Wash catches on before North can bottom out and raises the rest of the way with him. North lets out a frustrated growl, matching York’s displeased groan. Wash ignores the warning his groan carries. “Dammit Wash, are you ever not an insufferable tease? Go faster.”

“Mmm, but I’m very - ah - much enjoying myself like this.” Wash replies sassily, giving York’s cock a quick squeeze followed by a few languid strokes. “If you want me to go faster you’re going to have to convince me.”

North attempts another hard thrust, only to be thwarted yet again when Wash moves with him. The pace is excruciating, making the sniper decide he isn’t above begging. “Please Wash. Please ride me faster. I can’t take much more of this slow pace. Oh god please.”

York lets out a surprised groan, reacting to both the quick tugs Wash performs and the words falling from North’s mouth. “I’ve never heard him beg like that Wash. You must really be driving him crazy.”

“Ohhh - I bet he can do better than that though.” Wash moans out, angling himself so that his next slow fall rubs against his prostate. The words make North’s eyes darken, pupils already blown so wide his eyes look almost completely black. With a frustrated growl, he pushes off the wall, dislodging Wash from his lap. The freckled blonde makes an unmanly squeak as he topples forwards into York, letting go of the man’s dick to catch himself, mouth inches away from where his had was previously. 

“Ok, you’ve had your fun Wash. Now it’s my turn.” North pulls him so that he’s on his hands and knees, still facing York. His voice is deep and commanding. “You are going to blow York while I fuck you from behind, got it? No more teasing. Just me fucking you hard while you swallow down York’s cock. Understand?”

Wash swallows hard with arousal before nodding, precum leaking out against his stomach. He opens his mouth to accept York’s shaft as North pushes back into him in one swift thrust. Brown eyes raise to meet York’s gaze when the older man pushes his hand into Wash’s blonde hair, tugging slightly. “Don’t worry Wash. I won’t let you choke this time I promise.”

Wash hums in understanding, allowing the vibrations to travel up York’s length. He lets his jaw go slack, the momentum from North’s hard thrusts and small forward snaps of York’s hips effectively fucking his mouth; in a much hotter way than earlier, too. The pace gets faster and more brutal as North chases bliss, buried deep inside him. Despite his mind being focused on completion, he still takes the time to change the angle of his thrusts until he connects with the spot that makes Wash cry out around York’s cock. 

Wash shifts his weight so that he can balance on one hand, using the other to wrap around York’s cock. Pumping York’s dick, he closes his lips tight and sucks hard, dragging his lips and tongue over his frenulum to lap lightly at the fluids York is leaking. A sharp thrust from behind sends his entire mouth back over York as he moans. That alone is enough to send York over the edge, gripping Wash’s hair as he comes into his mouth. Wash sucks him dry, relishing the tastes of his second lover for a moment before York pulls out of his mouth, sprawling backwards against the bed.

North reaches a hand around Wash’s waist to grip his aching member, quickly jerking him into his climax. A few more thrusts brings North’s orgasm as well, and they collapse onto the bed together when Wash’s arms give out. North presses a kiss to Wash’s back as he pulls out gently, accepting the wet wipes from York. Wash whimpers into the scratchy blanket beneath him, completely spent. North snorts in amusement before gently wiping him down. 

“Mmm, what are you doing?” Wash mumbles at him.

“Cleaning you up. You’re all sticky and you didn’t seem like you were going to do it anytime soon.” North explains patiently, hand lingering on his rear as he wipes away the come leaking out of his hole. He pauses for a second before startling a shocked gasp from Wash and he slides his tongue between the younger man’s freckled cheeks to clean the juices from his leaking entrance. Satisfied, North rolls him over to wipe away the mess on his stomach.

“That tickles. North, you’re ridiculous.” Wash giggles, voice sleepy. “I love you both. Can we cuddle now?”

York laughs softly, tugging Wash up to him and pulling back the blankets. North rolls off the bed to hit the lights, kicking clothes to the side as he goes. When he gets back he passes out the bottles of water on the side table and crawls in beside York. “Drink before you sleep, Wash.”

“Mmmk.” Wash twists the cap off, chugging down the bottle. Once it’s empty, he screws the cap back on and chucks it across the room before snuggling into York’s chest. The other two finish their water at a slower pace, sharing a few intimate kisses before York drifts off, bottle still a quarter full and opened. North pulls it from his grasp, recapping it and returning it to the nightstand before throwing an arm around his two lovers and drifting off to sleep.


	6. Dots and Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> York's game of connect the dots turns into a serious conversation about their pasts when he breaks the only two rules Wash has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings for mentions of past: dub-con, underage sex and drinking, sexual manipulation and abuse, and child abuse.

North wakes up to the impossibly adorable sound of muffled giggling. York’s voice instantly follows up with a hushing noise. Groaning, he rolls onto his stomach and buries his face into the Wash scented pillow. A slow smile spreads across his face as he simultaneously listens to the quiet noises beside him and remembers last night. The light brush of skin against skin when the person next to him wiggles causes a spike of lust to flare deliciously and course through his body. Especially when it’s coupled with a gasp from Wash.

“Ah! Dammit York, that’s freaking cold.” The youngest man’s words are a muffled whisper. “You better not be using permanent marker.”

“Shhh. You wouldn’t want to wake North up with all your whining and moaning, would you?” York doesn’t even bother whispering. From the choice of words, he probably knows that North is already awake. “He gets a little grumpy when people wake him up before absolutely necessary. One time I had to wake him up at 05:00 to take a leak and when I got back he pinned me to the bed and left the most angry and possessive mark on my neck. After that he fell asleep on top of me. When he woke up again he was so grumpy and surly that I felt bad and gave him a morning blow job as an apology. Didn’t do a damn lick of good either. Mr. Grumpy Gills here was pissy all morning.”

“And yet you’re being ridiculously loud.” North grumbles into the pillow, successfully keeping the amusement from his voice when Wash twitches beside him. “You know you’re going to pay for that grumpy comment, don’t you York?”

“Sorry North, I’m busy connecting the dots right now.” York teases softly, catching the look North shoots him from the corner of his eye. The brunette elicits a quiet moan from Wash as his fingers trace the freckles across the shoulders of the man he’s straddling, choosing a path before the marker follows. As North watches York lean down to press a kiss to the back of Wash’s neck, another surge of desire shoots through him. He’d very much like to join York in tasting those freckles. Most specifically, the ones standing out against the flush creeping down the back of the youngest Freelancer’s neck. North is just about to act on that thought when Wash swats at York.

“I told you not to touch there.” The weapons specialist growls in agitation, struggling to pull himself out from beneath York. In true Wash fashion, one of his flailing arms smack North in the back of the head. Wash stills immediately when North rolls onto his side to glare. The flush on his neck grows, spreading down his shoulders, as he curses softly before addressing North in a tone coated with embarrassment. “Uh, good morning North. I’m sorry for hitting you.”

“Morning Wash. Tell me, is being woken up by your hand going to be a regular occurrence following all the nights we spend together?” North allows his mirth to shine through as he ribs the other man. Wash's head snaps up to meet North's gaze, a scandalized look on his face. A look that quickly turns to concern at the gurgling noise that York makes before he breaks out into a coughing fit. North glances between the two of them with confusion. "What's going on?"

York takes a couple deep breaths as Wash buries his face into the mattress, laughing hysterically. Once the infiltrations specialist regains his composure, he grins at North, a sultry note entering his response. "I hope Wash continues to wake you with his hand. I'd enjoy watching that, I think."

"Luckily enough for you York, I have two hands." Wash composes himself momentarily, before breaking down into laughter again when York hums in excitement.

North stares, aware that he must be missing something. York winks at him while he tries to puzzle it out. After a short pause he shrugs unapologetically, accepting his inability to pick up on nuances first thing in the morning. He explains as much to his lovers. "It's too early for subtly guys. Please explain."

"Is he always this slow when he first wakes up?" Wash stage whispers to York. "Or did we cause brain damage last night?"

"Hey!" North elbows Wash sharply in retaliation. "I haven't been awake as long as you two assholes. By the sheer amount of penises, stars, hearts, and what looks like a crudely drawn dog peeing on something, York's been at it for a while."

Wash squawks. Honest to god squawks. North can't keep the chuckle from escaping him at that. York cuts them off before someone pushes too far. "North, you may not realize this but you just complained about the future possibilities of you getting woke up by hand jobs every morning Wash is in bed with us."

Wash starts laughing again, and North frowns as he thinks back on what he said. "Oh. Ohhhh. Yeah, please continue to wake me up with your hand. Just use it properly and on the right area of my body instead of smacking me in the head next time.”

“It’s not my fault your boyfriend can’t follow directions.” Wash’s laughter turns into a grumble as he twists to glare at York. “In fact he’s managed to break the only two rules I gave him. Do you think you could remove him please? I’d rather not have any more dicks drawn on my back.”

“Aww, come on Wash. I only drew one.” York pouts, fingers tracing the mentioned doodle. “And it isn’t even in a place where anyone will see it.”

“If you’re going to draw on me at least make it something classy.” Wash winces as the words leave his mouth. York snorts, grinning at the faint blush spreading over North’s cheeks. The freckled man backpedals immediately. “Uhh sorry North. I mean they just aren’t my thing. All the power to anyone who can sport dick art on their bodies.”

York’s shoulders are shaking with silent laughter as he takes in huge gulps of air. North shoves him hard, watching with satisfaction as the brunette topples into the wall. “The tattoo was not my idea. I blame South. I haven’t had the opportunity to get it covered yet. In case you haven’t noticed, shore leave isn’t a big thing around here.”

“Fair enough.” Wash concedes to his point, before continuing with a raised eyebrow. “But you still haven’t explained why you have dicks forming the term YOLO tattooed to your hip in the first place. Which, by the way, is both highly amusing and completely ridiculous. Especially on you. I’m surprised I never noticed it before now.”

“He hides it pretty good. Could you imagine what Connie or Wyoming would do with that little tidbit of information?” York has shifted so his back is propped up against the wall and his legs are spread out across Wash and North’s. North absentmindedly rubs York’s foot as he starts his tale.

“It’s a pretty funny story actually. See, the night before we headed out for the Project, South decided we needed to have one last hurrah with our squad mates. She drags me out to this local joint, a place where half the squad frequents during down time, announces our new deployment, and convinces the entire bar that it’s their job to make sure we are well and truly hungover for our first day.” North grins fondly at the memory. Despite the awful ‘art’ permanently etched into his hip with a needle and ink, it was a pretty damn good night. Wash’s throat clear drags him out of the memory, prompting him to continue. “So anyway, South ends up wasted pretty quickly and after that she focuses on getting me smashed. By the end of the night neither of us can walk straight and I’m actually more drunk than her for once. One of the guys we were drinking with is covered in tattoos. Full sleeves, chest and back pieces, you name it. Pretty awesome art too. Of course as soon as I mentioned that, South decided that we needed to go get one done. I mean, she already had a few at this point, but I’ve never really been into that type of stuff, you know? Tattoos are a little permanent for me.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Wash agrees when North pauses. “If you’re gonna permanently mark your body then it should mean something, right?”

“Yeah. Some tattoos are beautiful pieces of art for sure, but I’d rather not have that art on my body.” North agrees readily, staring at York and ignoring his huff. The brunette has several tattoos, all of them unique and beautiful, North will admit.

“Pfft. Every one of my tattoos means something you assholes.” York crosses his arms, meeting North’s stare with a glare that quickly turns into a pout. “Just because they look pretty doesn’t mean they can’t be meaningful as well.”

Wash makes a soothing noise, reaching out to catch the pouting man’s hand. “I think you’re tattoos are amazing York. Neither of us were judging you.”

“Whatever. North, tell the rest of the story.” North watches York’s pout fade a bit as he squeezes Wash’s hand.

“OK, so yeah. As soon as I commented on the guy’s tattoos, South suggested we go get one together and I was just drunk enough to agree. She dragged me down to some hole in the wall place she’d gotten her last tattoo at. I wasn’t sure what to get, so she told me that she’d pick out something perfect for me.” Wash winced, giving North a sympathetic look. “I don’t remember much after that, but apparently I agreed to it because I woke up in the morning with a monster hangover and this eyesore of a tattoo on my hip. South still thinks it’s hilarious, but she knows that if she says anything about it I’ll retaliate and some of the things I have over her are shocking, even for South.”

“Oh man.” Wash chuckles. “Your sister is kind of a bitch. Does she usually screw you over like that when you’re drunk?”

“I’ve only been that drunk a few times in my life, but yes. Every damn time she convinces me to do something ridiculous. The first time she took advantage of my drunkenness I got a rainbow mohawk just in time for my high school graduation photos. The morning after prom I woke up with a lip piercing.” North pauses, forehead scrunched up in thought. “I didn’t even go to the same after party she did, so I don’t know how she did it.”

York’s grinning again. “Sometimes I love your sister. She provides some great entertainment.”

Wash hums in agreement, scooting over to press himself firmly against North. The older man slips his arm under Wash, pressing soft kisses to the freckles dotting the back of his neck. The other blonde sighs contently before patting the mattress in front of him. “Come lie down with us and tell us about your tattoos, York.”

North watches York’s fingers trace the tattoo on his chest distractedly in a moment of hesitation before he scoots up the bed, resting crosslegged with his back against the wall. Wash obviously notices his reluctance as well because he slowly stretches a hand forward, fingers joining York’s in tracing the lines inked across the left side of the tanned man’s chest, ignoring the minor jolt he startles out of the locksmith. The freckled man drops his voice to a fervent whisper. “It’s so beautiful York. What type of flowers are they? Will you tell us what it means?”

A nostalgic smile flitters across York’s face, eyes losing their focus for a moment before he meets Wash’s gaze. North finds himself holding his breath, amazed by how beautiful his lover looks when reminiscing. They don’t dip into their pasts very often, and even though North knows York had a privileged childhood that doesn’t mean the other man enjoyed it.

“They are apple blossoms, the state flower of Arkansas. I got them the day before I entered basic, as a way to keep home close to my heart. My childhood home might not instill the most favourable of memories, but there is a lot of good moments back there too.” York sighs, skimming his fingertips across the back of Wash’s hand as he focuses on nothing. The wistful tone his voice adopts makes North’s heart feel empty and aching. “I left a couple people I cared about deeply behind when I decided to join up and I wanted something to remember them by. Sometimes I wonder whether they ever think of me, and what would have happened if I had have let them talk me out of leaving. I’d probably be married with kids in a big suburban house with a mechanical engineering degree or something. So yeah, the flowers are to remember the life I used to have, and the one that could have been. Coincidentally, apple blossoms were always my sister’s favourite flower, so it’s fitting really.”

North remains silent when York finishes, refusing to shatter the sentimental moment. Wash has no such qualms however, and North can feel the younger man tense as he timidly replies. “But if you’d have stayed then you wouldn’t have us. It isn’t really so bad here, is it?”

“No! God no.” The reply comes instantly, York looking startled. “I wouldn’t give the two of you up for anything. I’d rather spend every night on these crappy mattresses under shitty blankets in this metal can than in a cushy king sized bed in the suburbs if it meant I got to keep you.”

North can feel the smile stretching across his face at the same time that Wash practically lights up. It feels like a boulder lifted off his heart the moment York said that. Allowing the fondness he feels for York to tinge his words, North gently prods him back onto the topic of his tattoos. “So, apple blossoms remind you of home. How about the others?”

“Ahh. The rest have much less depressing stories.” York grins, flopping forward so he’s sprawled across their legs on his stomach, giving them a perfect view of the beautiful tattoo decorating his entire upper back. It also displays the UNSC eagle tattooed on his left shoulder. “So obviously the tattoo on my shoulder is to remember my first squad. Nothing out of the ordinary there. But the back piece… I love it. I started with the key in the center; first tattoo, got it when I was fifteen. I didn’t really know why I got it back then, other than the fact it was a big ‘fuck you’ to my parents who still believe only delinquents have tattoos. But I think I also associated keys with power and happiness, despite never really needing one to get what I want. In a way, I guess I equated myself to a key because I was pretty good at unlocking anything. And the stuff I stole provided me with the means to do what I wanted.”

The passion in York’s voice as he explains the first aspect of his tattoo is mesmerizing to North. He reaches out a hand to trace over the delicate shading and intricate lines that make up the old fashioned skeleton key situated in the middle of that muscular back, fingers lingering on the intertwined loops adorning it’s end. York presses up into the touch unconsciously as he continues explaining.

“I guess it could also be that I likened the key to freedom. But I wasn’t really free; not yet. That didn’t come until after I graduated and headed off to university. That’s what the broken chain wrapped around the wings symbolizes. That was my last edition to the back piece. It reminds me that, even though I agreed to attend Columbia like most of my father’s family did, I didn’t stay a pre-law student like he expected. The chain stands for me breaking away from his expectations and transferring to the engineering program halfway through first year.” The pride in York’s voice is evident as he talks about the thin chain that winds around the wings of his tattoo, encircling the key. The links of the chain are broken near the tips of the wings, like a powerful flex snapped it, sending the ends recoiling in both directions. Wash’s hand brushes against North’s as the youngest man follows the path of the chain, awe splashed across his features. The smile that the infiltrations specialist directs at them is soft and full of adoration. “The wings were an addition after a girl I dated at 17 called me her guardian angel, even used to ask me where my wings were. I started the tattoo when we were together, getting the one side done before she broke up with me. In her breakup speech she told me that she was lying and that I was the worst kind of devil. So I got the devil wing on the otherside. I think it turned out pretty damn good. And it suits my personality pretty well.”

“It definitely does.” Wash chuckles, teasingly agreeing. “Although a little more devil would probably have been more appropriate.”

“You’re so beautiful.” North murmurs softly. “They were already amazing, but knowing the stories behind your tattoos just makes them that much more breathtaking.”

“I don’t know…” York jokes quietly. “Do you think they’re better than some artfully arranged penises?”

North swats his naked ass in retaliation. “Definitely better than my eyesore.”

“What about you, Wash?” York grins back at their youngest lover. “What are your tattoos about? You have what, six or seven of them on your ribs. A series of numbers written in cursive.”

Wash flinches at the question, all of the sudden looking like he’d rather be anywhere but there. North notices how the freckled hand that still rests on York’s back starts to shake as he pulls it away, retracting into himself as if to avoid attention. Curling his arm up around the shorter blonde’s chest, North tugs him in closer, holding him possessively. If Wash is going to go to pieces then he’s going to do his best to keep them all together until the other man is with it enough to fix himself. North meets York’s concerned gaze, watching as the brunette pushes himself carefully off their legs to shuffle gracelessly into the spot between Wash and the wall. Tossing an arm over both of them, York settles in so that Wash’s face is nestled into the crook of his neck. The shaking man presses his face forward, breathing in deeply as he calms slightly.

“Shh, it’s OK love. You’re OK. You don’t have to explain right now.” North soothes, fingers tracing random patterns up and down Wash’s hip and side, hand firmly avoiding the numbers inked into the freckled skin covering his ribs. Pressing some distracting kisses to a patch of freckles just behind Wash’s jaw has the man relaxing slightly.

“I’m sorry.” He mutters quietly into York’s neck, making the brunette shudder slightly and press his palm into North, forcing them in closer. Wash sighs unhappily. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you guys or anything. It’s just hard, because each one of them represents a date that something drastic happened in my life. And only two of them can be considered anything close to good.”

“Oh Wash…” York whispers sorrowfully into the mop of blonde hair tucked under his chin. North’s eyes glance down at the tattoos in question. Eight. There are eight dates there. Eight instances in Wash’s young life that were so impacting, so influential, that he deemed necessary to mar his beautiful body with. Raising his gaze, he sees the sadness and worry he’s feeling reflected in York’s eyes as the other man gently asks one of the more innocent questions floating around in North’s head. “Why would you etch such unhappy memories into your skin?”

The younger man pushes even closer to York, pressing so tightly into his chest that it almost looks like he’s trying to crawl inside the tanned man and disappear. North follows Wash’s lead, sandwiching the man tightly as he starts to shake again. The answer is so quiet that the combined noises of their breathing nearly overshadows it. “Sometimes you need to remember where you come from and what you’re fighting for. It helps me remember why I have to keep moving forward and what I have to return to if I fail.”

North frowns at the wry bitterness in those words. It’s the same tone Wash used when he told them he didn’t want to be their plaything. The same voice he used last night to inform them that the thorough throat fucking that North preformed on him wasn’t the worst that he’d had. The curious part of him wants to know all the events that added to the incredible resilience of his young lover. The more sensible side of him, however, is positive that he isn’t going to like what he hears. He isn’t sure if he wants to know the events that can cause such a strong man to quiver like an autumn leaf in an October wind.

York, however, does not share the same sentiment. He trails his tanned fingers hesitantly over the first set of numbers, pressing firmer when Wash tenses. “Can you tell me about this one, babe?”

“What did you just call me?” The term of endearment startles a surprised laugh from Wash’s lips. “Did you just call me babe? Really York?”

“Yep. Deal with it, babe.” York teases another set of giggles out of Wash, relieving some of the tension. North allows his fingers to join York’s in ghosting over the top row of digits and is extremely grateful when his freckled lover remains relaxed.

“You’re absurd, York.” Wash’s incredulous giggle is followed by a content sigh when North presses an open mouthed kiss to his jaw. “You’re absolutely ludicrous. I’m not sure which one of you is more amusing. I love you.”

“Love you too.” North utters against Wash’s jaw at the same time that York ducks down to kiss him. The last bit of stress leaks out of the smaller man’s muscles at that confirmation, and North is suddenly aware that maybe Wash is worried that they won’t love him after delving into his past. “And we’ll still love you after you tell us what your tattoos mean, I promise. Nothing that you’ve done will change that.”

York breaks the kiss, realization dawning on his face. He rushes to affirm North’s statement. “Of course we will! Don’t ever think that we would stop loving you because of something you had to do to survive. Never be afraid to tell us something Wash. Your past brought you to us, so let us help by sharing the burden.”

“You are such a sap.” Wash groans playfully before his voice takes on a serious quality. “I’m warning you now though, I’ve done some things that I’m not proud of and a lot of shitty stuff has happened in my life. It isn’t going to be easy for me to talk about this stuff. So no interrupting or making fun of me if I need to take a break.”

“Of course. You take as much time as you need to tell it Wash.” North reassures him gently. “We can stay like this the entire time if you want, as well. You don’t even have to look at us if that makes it easier.”

“Thank you North.” Wash turns his head, brown eyes searching North’s blue ones for a moment before the taller man leans forward to place a tender kiss to his lips. Wash pulls away after a brief moment, placing a quick peck to North’s lips again before dropping his head onto York’s shoulder with a sigh. “I guess the best place to start is from the beginning. The first tattoo was not something I wanted. It was ugly and oppressive and a constant reminder of the day my childhood ended. That series of number represents the day my home colony got glassed; the day I entered a refugee colony as an orphan at the age of eight. Every orphan that entered the camp was marked with one, to keep track of how long we’d been there. They only let you stay for a year tops if you look older than five. By then, the people running the place figured, you should be adjusted enough to survive on your own so they dump you in the streets to starve.”

Wash’s voice is surprisingly steady as he offers up that disgusting tidbit of information. North takes that as a bad sign, bracing himself because if his lover can be that calm about something so horrific as glassing and starving children then the other stuff must be a thousand times worse. He reaches out to grasp York’s hand and isn’t all that shocked to find it’s shaking.

Wash continues after collecting his thoughts. “I guess the idea to continue with the dates came from another orphan who shared a sleeping area with me. The first night I was there the tattoo was still bleeding and she helped me clean it. She explained how much she hated the mark, saying that it always reminded her of the worst day of her life and what she lost on that day. Like we needed something to remind us of that day. Like anyone could ever forget. Anyway, her words never really left my head. And when I was kicked out of the refugee orphanage camp nine months later I decided that instead of hating my tattoo I was going to own it. I vowed that every time something big happened in my life I’d use my body to keep a record of it. I wish that was the only thing I had to use my body for.”

All of the air leaves North’s lungs at the same time that York inhales sharply and Wash starts trembling again. The grip York has on his hand is starting to cut the circulation to his fingers off, so North focuses on that as he tries to remember how to breathe. Out of the corner of his eye he can see York running his other hand through Wash’s blonde locks, massaging his scalp in a comforting manner. They lay like this for a while until the shaking mellows and Wash decides he’s ok to continue. North isn’t sure he wants to hear the next part, but he listens anyway.

“There’s only so much a kid can do to get food and only so many times you can steal something before people start to keep an eye on you. The second date marks my initiation into a street gang just before my tenth birthday. The acceptance process was pretty brutal and I ended up having to kick the crap out of some older kids in order to get in. Didn’t have to kill anyone though, not until a little over a year later. That’s what the third one is for. I’m pretty lucky though. Mostly we just doled out a few beatings, pickpocketed people and stole from the richer stores around. The gang was like my family, and we always looked out for one another. If I hadn’t fallen in with them I would have either starved or ended up selling my body for food. Thankfully I never got that desperate.”

An intense feeling of relief settles in North’s chest. York must feel some too, because the pressure on his hand disappears as the brunette drops it in favour of tracing over the 4th set. He can’t stop the wince that comes with the painful tingling sensation in his fingers as the oxygen returns to them. Wash hesitates, pausing for awhile as York’s fingers stroke over the black number inked onto his ribs. After a few moments of absolute silence, the weapons specialist takes a deep breath and continues on.

“The fourth one… Well the fourth one is a reminder of lost love. It’s a memorial to the pretty rich boy I fell in love with at 14, after I stopped some gang members from beating him to death. He was the son of a well-off merchant, older than me and completely above in class, with an attitude a bit like York’s. So naturally we became fast friends. I taught him how to fight; how to blend in and navigate the streets. And he taught me how to read and write and do math. A regular Cinderella story. Of course, being his best friend meant he was comfortable telling me things and experimenting. I got the tattoo when I decided I was in love with him. But really, who finds love at 14 right? The unfortunate thing about being a street kid is that you are, ultimately, disposable. A few weeks after I showed him the tattoo he decided he’d seen everything I had to offer and banished me from his life. At this point I was already on the outs with some of the gang members over my recent conduct and fraternization with targets. So I did what any heartbroken teen would do. I ran. Which brings us to the fifth.” Wash’s tone becomes almost giddy with excitement, causing North and York to trade small smiles. “This one is by far the best memory I have so far. The fifth date marks the end of my, to put it loosely, apprenticeship in all things that go bang with a former UNSC Marine who defected after watching some planet get glassed while the higher up sat by and did nothing. I’m not 100 percent sure why he took a shine to me, but the old bastard taught me everything from how to shoot down distant birds with one shot from a battle rifle to the correct angle in which to fire an RPG so that it’ll bounce off a building and around the corner without exploding on impact. I’m pretty sure the time I spent with that old man was the best period of my life until I got accepted into the project and found you guys.”

York breaks the rule of no interruptions by tipping Wash’s head back to steal a deep kiss the moment the words leave Wash’s lips. When they come apart for air, York teases him with a quiet comment. “And who’s the sap now?”

“Hush you.” North scolds jokingly. “You always have to go against the rules, don’t you? Didn’t you listen when Wash said no interruptions?”

“You two are the worst.” Wash states with a fake pout. “Can’t take anything seriously.”

“Sorry. No more interruptions, I promise.” York sighs. “Next time I’ll withhold my kisses until the end.”

“You better stockpile those for me. Because the sixth mark is another painful one.” Wash falls back into the realm of seriousness, assuming the wry tone from earlier. “It is there as a reminder not to be taken advantage of again. I got it three months before my 18th birthday, the day after I quit my job at a dive bar outside one of the larger settlements of the colony. Got the job shortly after the old man gave me the boot, claiming that he’d taught me everything he knew. The couple that owned the bar were nice. I worked for room and board and even got a little bit of pay when they could afford it. It was a good deal, something I was suspicious of at first. Something I probably should have stayed suspicious of. It started off with small touches and requests for back or foot rubs. Then there were kisses from both of them, coupled with minor groping. I was only 17 and naive, so I just went with it. The people were nice and the touches felt good. Naturally it graduated to more, and soon I was spending half the night in their bed doing whatever they wanted me to. They were gentle with me at first, taking their time with sweet touches and making sure that I felt good. But after awhile it became rough and I would most often wake up with bruises. The sixth date marks the night they pushed me too far and I woke up on the floor after passing out midway through giving a blowjob, covered in bruises. There wasn’t any aftercare and I felt sticky and used. It was way too much to deal and I finally realized that I probably deserved better. So I gathered up everything I knew I could sell or trade and I got the fuck out of there.”

Wash’s voice is thick with emotion and he’s back to shaking. North scoots in as close as he can, following as York holds Wash closer. He’s surprised that their youngest lover has had the strength to stay together this long. He felt like crying himself; how could anyone even dream of hurting the perfect man tucked up between the two of them. They remain cuddled together, Wash’s face pressed into York’s chest, until North is sure his arm has fallen off. He tries to slide it out from under Wash without disturbing him but fails miserably. The freckled man chuckles when North’s fingers slide underneath his ribs, pushing himself up so that the trapped hand can be pulled to freedom. Scrubbing an arm across his eyes, Wash smiles back at North. “Is your arm asleep?”

“I think it’s actually dead.” North replies solemnly. “Can’t feel it at all. If I wasn’t looking at it right now, I’d swear it wasn’t even there anymore.”

“Sorry.” Wash’s smile brightens. “But hey, if it does fall off and you end up with only one arm, well… you know who to ask when you want a hand.”

North’s eyes widen as York bursts into laughter. “I think Wash just used your arm being asleep as an excuse to proposition you, North.”

“Yep.” Wash agrees happily. “It was getting too melancholic in here. I saw a perfect opportunity to lighten the mood and I took it.”

“Not to put a damper on this or anything, but you still have two dates left.” North reminds him gently.

“Ah, yes. Those just correspond to the date I entered basic and the date I got accepted to the project. Nothing too exciting there.” Wash provides with a shrug. “So now you know my tragic life story. Can we get breakfast now? I’m famished.”

“Hell yes. I could definitely use some food.” York clamors over them, scrambling to collect his clothes.

“I suppose we better.” North agrees, moving at a more sedate pace. “Although I really was enjoying those naked cuddles.”

“We can cuddle again later, OK?” Wash nudges him, examining his ruined t-shirt with a grimace before tugging another off of the shelf.

“I’m going to hold you to that, Wash.” York butts in, placing a sloppy kiss on North’s lips as he shoves the taller man’s pants into his arms. “Hurry up and get dressed North! They might still have sausages.”

“OK. Calm down.” North pulls on his pants. York hits the door release as soon as his ass is covered, glancing down the hall cautiously before slipping out of the room quickly. North and Wash follow quickly, flanking the brunette. The shorter blonde grins before hip-checking York, sending him stumbling into the taller blonde.

“Hey man. Watch it.” York sends Wash a mock glare, a dark glint entering his eyes. “I’m going to make you pay for that later you know.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” Wash tosses back. He scans the halls swiftly before he places a quick peck on York’s cheek. “Love you!”

“So Wash.” North falls back into step with them as they continue towards the mess. “Are we an important enough part of your life to become a permanent mark on your body? Because I’m sure we can find someone on the ship that knows their way around the art of tattooing. It’d give you another happy memory at the very least. And keep us close to you.”

Wash pauses mid step, a blush creeping across his cheeks. “You’d want me to do that?”

“Duh.” York jumps in. “He’s just as much of a fucking sap as we are.”

“Never mind..”  North mumbles, looking away in embarrassment. “I just thought since you mean so much to us that maybe we’d mean enough for you to want to do it. It was a stupid idea.”

“Aww. No North, don’t do that.” Wash plants himself firmly in North’s views. “I was just shocked you would want that. You two mean more than anything to me. So let’s do it.”

“You’re so adorable when you’re embarrassed North.” York chirps. “I bet Florida knows how to do tattoos. He seems like the artsy type. I’ll ask him later OK?”

North is about to answer when Wash’s stomach interrupts with a growl. He snaps his mouth shut, giving Wash a mockingly scandalized look. “We’ll discuss this later, I guess. Someone’s too hungry for me to focus.”

“Deal!” Wash grins.


	7. Missions and Meals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> York hates getting left behind, Wash leaves without saying goodbye and South has a protective side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's shorter than usual. I feel obligated to remind people that this fic is going to follow canon. At least for a while.

One of the things York hates the most about his job is the periods of time in which he’s not on a mission but others on the team are. He especially dislikes when Wash gets sent out without North or himself there to watch his six. It’s not that the rookie isn’t capable of holding his own in the field or anything. It’s just that Wash seems to be a magnet for trouble. York wouldn’t worry as much if it weren’t for the fact that the youngest Freelancer is usually paired up with Connie or Maine. Which means dangerous situations in which Wash has to provide support and cover fire. He’s there to make sure his partner has a clear escape, and York will admit, Wash is pretty damn good at it. Unfortunately being backup means nobody is watching your back, and Wash has gotten himself in a couple of sticky spots that he’s narrowly escaped without serious injuries.

Not that York doesn’t worry about North too. He’s hardwired to care, no matter how hard he tries to portray himself as nonchalant and laid back. But he doesn’t worry about North as much because the missions they aren’t on together are the ones that the sniper is accompanying South on. And as ruthlessly uncaring as South may seem, she always has North’s back. York doubts that will ever change. And he’d hate to be anyone that hurts one of the Dakota siblings while the other is within firing range. They both have specialized revenge policies for that situation, usually starting with a debilitating shot and ending with someone getting split in two from groin to forehead with a repeating laser rifle. York’s not kidding either, he’s watched North do it before. The man is also incredibly fond of kicking his opponents in the crotch before shooting them in the face with his shotgun. His boyfriend can be an amusingly vindictive asshole at times, but his twin is twice as bad. For a  younger sibling, South is incredibly protective of her brother.

The worst situations however, the times that York frets the most, are when the two of them are gone at the same time and he gets left behind with only his boredom and irrational anxieties to keep him company. A fate worse than death sometimes, he thinks. Because when York gets bored he usually ends up in some sort of trouble. Last time he was stranded on the MoI without North to keep him company, York laced Wyoming’s mustache oil with South’s purple hair dye and the oldest Agent on their team retaliated by replacing his hair gel with glue. It took two weeks to get his hair back to normal and it’s no where near as shiny as it used to be.

The mustached Brit's revenge wasn’t anywhere close to the punishment South provided when she found out York had stolen her product though. York still finds the occasional grain of rice digging into his back in the middle of the night. And his room still reeks of vinegar. That woman sure knows how to get revenge in the messiest of ways; although York suspects that maybe she had a little help. Subtlety and patience aren’t two of South’s strengths, and since the prank didn’t happen until a week after York’s, he suspects Connie had a hand in helping. The only person more devious when it comes to pranking is Wash, and York doubts that his lover would participate in a prank that made the man he was sleeping with smell like a fish and chips stand.

So yes, York hates being left behind. Which makes this week especially annoying. North’s been on a reconnaissance mission with South for the past two days and isn’t due back for another day. A reconnaissance mission that, with any luck, would turn into intelligence retrieval, bringing the twins back sooner than planned. The fact that Carolina has been on standby for the last few hours suggests that phase two of their mission might be coming rather soon. York really hopes that is the case, because Wash got called into a briefing halfway through York’s holo-lock simulation, a little under two hours ago. Which means York’s been left alone on the MOI again with only Wash’s textcom as a farewell. The swiftness of his deployment, coupled with the fact he’s out with Connie, suggests that Wash is on a mission to collect highly sensitive and important information. Meaning a stealth mission which puts Wash away for at least a day, but more likely two or three. The sooner North gets back, the happier York will be.

York treks into the mess, grumbling to himself as he collects a tray of dinner, some sort of chicken with mushroom sauce and rice. He plops down across from Maine with a sigh and immediately sets out scraping off as much of the disgusting little fungi as possible. Maine offers him a surprised grunt of acknowledgement.

“Wash?” The large Agent asks in a disgruntled voice. York understands; normally he avoids being alone with Maine whenever possible. Something about Wash’s friend brings out the asshole in the brunette.

“Mission with Connie. Got called in for the briefing at 15:30 and left the MoI pretty quickly afterwards.” York provides, stabbing his chicken moodily. Maine tilts his head to the left, studying him curiously for a brief moment before offering a sympathetic shrug.

“Don’t like it when he’s gone either. Worry about him.” Maine offers quietly. “But no cars, no problems. Tough kid.”

“Yeah I know.” York sighs again. “But I can’t help worrying when I’m not there to watch his back. Wash is constantly attracting trouble, and this time it’s just Connie and him. Nobody there to pull him from the fire.”  
York receives another grunt of acknowledgement before Maine carefully words his response. “Stealth mission. They’re sneaky. Master pranksters. Wash never gets caught. Should be fine. Relax.”

“OK, good point. Remember the time you tried to prank South after she replaced your shaving cream with lavender scented stuff?” York chuckles at the glare Maine offers him. “Your plan was so elaborate that Wash had to step in and help. Green slime that only multiplies when you try to wash it off… Pretty awesome prank there. If it hadn’t spread all over the damn ship I’m sure you would have gotten away with it. But of course Wash got off scot-free didn’t he?”

“Looks too innocent. Director never suspects him.” Maine shrugs again. “Lesson learned, no more pranks.”

“Yeah… Cleaning the ship with bleach was a pain in the ass. Somehow Wash managed to get out of that as well, if I recall right. Carolina was pissed.”

“Bleach allergy. Couldn’t breathe properly for weeks.” Maine supplies with a wince. “My fault.”

York can feel his eyebrows shoot up. That devious bastard. “Nah Maine, Wash isn’t stupid. He would have known that the only way to remove the slime you decided to use would be with bleach. Which means he helped you plan the entire thing knowing that he wouldn’t be required to help clean up.”

“Smart.” There is a note of admiration in Maine’s tone. York nods in agreement, shuffling his food around some more. “Eat?”

“Not hungry really.” York places his fork down on the tray, staring at it blankly. Maine reaches over, pulling York’s tray across the table. He scoops the pile of mushrooms off York’s plate with a satisfied grin before sliding it back.

“Thanks.”

“Gross man. How can you eat those?” York shudders. “You’re so weird sometimes Maine.”

Maine growls at him, completely unimpressed. The big man gestures with his hand, shooing York away. “Leave now.”

“Yeah fine. I wasn’t going to eat this anyway.” York mutters, pushing to his feet. Maine stops him from taking the tray. “OK big guy, you can have it all. No point in wasting food I guess.”

Maine hums in agreement as York turns away and heads out the door.

* * *

The clock reads 04:00 when F.I.L.S.S alerts York that Carolina has requested his presence in the med bay. It takes York’s sleep ladened brain several minutes of struggling before he manages enough coordination to pull on some clothes and it isn’t until he’s pulled his shirt halfway over his head does he realize that if Carolina is back then so is North. And the med bay means injuries. Cursing loudly as he stumbles towards the exit, head still trapped in his favourite Grifball t-shirt. He manages to free himself an inch away from slamming his face into the still closed door. Slamming his palm against the release mechanism, York pauses only long enough for the door to slide open far enough for him to squeeze through before sprinting down the hall towards medical. He slides around the corner, sock-clad feet scrabbling for purchase on the metal floor. Using the wall to propel himself forward, York launches himself down the final corridor, skidding to a stop in front of the sealed doors. Inhaling deeply, he peers through the glass in an attempt to grasp the situation before entering. What he sees is not good.

South is pacing, following a path that allows her to watch through the glass observation windows of the recovery ward. Her helmet lies under one of the rows of uncomfortable plastic hospital chairs and York can only assume that, judging from the new dent in the wall, it has rolled there after the blonde woman threw it across the room. Carolina is leaning against the wall opposite the viewing window, well out of the way of South’s pacing. She also has her helmet removed, although it’s been placed carefully on the chair closest to her. The lack of helmet affords York a proper look at her face and he immediately notices that, although she looks exhausted, there is no worried frown creasing her forehead. Both women look as though they’ve been here for a solid hour at least, which means Carolina has probably seen North through the worst of it and just wants her number two to babysit South for a while. York exhales in relief before collecting himself and punching in his access code.

York immediately has the attention of both the room’s occupants as soon as the door unseals with a hiss. Carolina greets him with a tilt of her head and a slight nod. She opens her mouth to speak but South beats her to it, cutting in with a sneer. “What are you doing here? Isn’t this cutting into your beauty sleep, York?”

She takes a step back when twin glares focus on her, back connecting with the glass when she runs out of room. It only takes her a second to regain her equilibrium however, and South crosses her arms defensively across her chest as York steps into the room fully. Carolina lets out a tired sigh at the other woman’s action. “I called him here. Someone should be here when North wakes up and I doubt either of us will last that long.”

“Speak for yourself bitch.” South snaps, ignoring the eyebrow that raises in warning. A twinge goes through York’s chest at that look, reminding him of Wash. North will probably be out of recovery before their young lover even returns to the MOI, but York can’t help wishing Wash could be there with him.

The sarcasm in Carolina’s voice pulls York back into the present and he tunes in half way through the current conversation. “Sure South. You do that. I’m sure North will be really proud to learn his sister smashed up the observation room like a toddler having a tantrum when he wakes up. I, however, am going to bed. York, you’re on babysitting duty until North wakes up.”

“Sure thing, Carolina.” York tosses her a mock salute, ignoring the indignant squawk from South. “I’ll keep an eye on things here for awhile.”

“Comm me when he wakes up, OK?” She tosses the question over her shoulder as she slips out the door.

“You know I will.” York replies, attention already drifting to the window as he allows his feet to guide him there. Ignoring South, he takes in the site of his lover on the hospital cot. There is still a flurry of activity in the room below and a medic is thoroughly examining North’s vitals. There are bandages wrapped around his chest and York doesn’t have a clue what half the machine’s North is hooked up to even do. He continues to take inventory of the man’s injuries even as South approaches him and slumps against the glass.

“He got shot three times in the chest. Armor piercing. It happened protecting me.” All hostility has leaked out of South’s voice, leaving exhaustion and worry behind them. “Even after we rendezvoused with Niner he still kept trying. The idiot used his enhancement to save our pelican from going boom. I thought I was supposed to be the reckless one.”

York winces at the bitter note that seeps back into South’s voice with the last comment. He takes a moment to process the offered information. Equipment use in the field is extreme risky without an AI to regulate the timing and power output. North is lucky to have survived without permanent physical damage. A shiver runs down York’s spine as he presses his hand to the glass, reevaluating the monitors and and medical apparatuses the blonde man is hooked into. At least he looks stable. York says as much to South. “It looks pretty calm down there, so at least he’s stable right?”

“Yeah…” The quiet sigh that accompanies her reply, instead of the usual sarcasm, is a testament to how tired and worried South really is. “Now he just needs to wake up so I can yell at him. You’ll just have to wait your turn.”

“What?” York tenses at her suggestive tone and the way her eyes sweep over him, taking in his rumpled appearance with scorn. “Wait my turn for what, South? What the fuck does that even mean?”

“That’s right York, play dumb.” South scoffs, tone turning dangerous. “I know my brother better than I know myself and I see the expression he gets when he’s looking at you. His face gets all stupid and soft when he’s in love. You better know what you’re doing York. ‘Cuz if you fuck him over I’ll make sure there isn’t enough of you left to mourn.”

“Relax South.” York allows some steel to seep into his voice at the threat. “North is a big boy, he is more than capable of handling himself. But I have no intention of screwing him over. The sex is too good.”

He watches in satisfaction as her face screws up in disgust. “Gross. Let’s not talk about my brother like that. In fact, let’s just stop talking all together.”

York hums in agreement and the two turn their attention back to the ward below. The activity has lessened slightly and one of the medical staff is removing the wires and sensors from North’s head and chest. York allows his eyes to drift down his lover’s body, cataloging every bruise and muscle twitch for a time when they’re alone and he can offer North his own form of medical attention.

* * *

A little over an hour after York’s arrival at the med bay, the staff finally authorizes non-medical personnel into the recovery ward. York follows a stumbling South passed the piles of orchid armor she’d discarded a short while after the end of their conversation. He’s forced to lunge forward and catch her around the waist when she teeters at the head of the stairs, preventing her from a nasty tumble. With a grunt of thanks, she allows York to continue supporting her as they head through the glass doors. He pushes her into one of the marginally uncomfortable arm chairs positioned between the beds, hiding his small smile at the unconscious noise of tired satisfaction South releases as she settles in. York can see himself liking her when she’s like this; slightly vulnerable and no longer hiding behind her wall of snark. He watches her interlink her fingers with her twin’s as he skirts the bed to sink down into the chair on the opposite side.

“Thanks York.” Her words are so quiet that York isn’t sure that he didn’t imagine them. He provides a small grunt of acknowledgement, choosing to spare her the embarrassment of a full blown conversation. It takes South less than than ten minutes to drop off, hand still clenching North’s loosely.

York manages to contain himself for another half hour before he crawls onto the bed next to North, carefully avoiding the larger man’s wounds. Pressing a kiss to North’s lips, he rests his head on the other man’s uninjured shoulder after shrugging under his arm, stretching out on his side and balancing precariously on the edge of the mattress. He stays that way, mindful of their surroundings even as he relishes the warm comfort of North’s body beside him. York isn’t entirely sure how long he spends, not quite pressed into the other man’s side, before the arm around him tightens, pulling him in closer.

“Mmm, hello love.” North mumbles, words muddled by the painkillers. “Where ‘m I?”

York wiggles himself up a bit so he can press their mouths together in a soft, sweet kiss, before slipping out of North’s one armed embrace, ignoring North’s disappointed whimper. “We’re in the med-bay on the MoI North. You did something stupid and got yourself laid up in here. South’s pretty pissed at you, and I’m not super impressed either to be honest. I’m tempted to wake her up and let her yell at you.”

“Come backkk.” A pained wince crosses North’s face when he shifts to reach for York. The resulting tug, coupled with the man’s petulant whine, rouses South from her sleep. York meets her glare as he replies.

“Not right now, North.” He attempts a stern look and fails miserably when North pouts at him. He’s never seen his larger boyfriend attempt such a childish act before, and frankly, he looks a little ridiculous. York hides his chuckle behind a cough. “We both have things that need our attention right now. I need to get you a doctor and you need to have a chat with your sister.”

North rolls his head to look at South, a goofy grin spreading across his face. “Heyyy you.”

“Oh dear god you’re stoned. Where’s a camera when you need one.” South teases fondly, squeezing his hand briefly before her voice hardens. York slips out to find a doctor just as she really starts to get going.

* * *

It takes the better part of the morning for the doctor to clear North and allow him to leave the med bay. York has to keep his training schedule and, as a result, he doesn’t see his lover again until just before dinner. Stopping by North’s room on his way to the mess, he’s greeted with a tantalizing sight. The tall man is spread out on the bed, pantless with t-shirt riding up and providing York with a perfect view of his tented purple boxer-briefs. His blonde hair is tousled with sleep and despite his eyes being clouded by the pain medication, he tracks York’s movements with a welcoming smile.

“Hey love.” North’s voice is low and scratchy with sleep, drawing York in. The brunette kneels gingerly on the edge of the bed, allowing himself to be tugged down for a slow and thorough kiss. When North pulls more insistently at York’s shirt in an attempt to gain better access, he gives in, carefully throwing a leg over North so that he’s hovering over him braced on his elbows and knees. North moans happily into the kiss, the hand not tangled in York’s shirt traveling down to dip into the back of his pants. York continues to control the pace, however; kissing him languidly until North’s other hand finds it’s way to his ass and tries to yank him down so their bulges line up. The gasp he releases into York’s mouth when he tries to arch up against him is one of pain, and the shorter man jerks away from the kiss to scan North’s face with alarm.

“Are you OK babe? Did I hurt you?” York tries to keep the panic from his voice, attempting to pull away from the man beneath him. North’s enormous hands are still cupping his ass, keeping him in place. Instead of responding with words, the blonde applies pressure, pushing York’s hips against his own. The moan of pleasure transforms into another hiss of pain when York shifts slightly. The worry takes over and York tries to pull away. “North. North, stop. You’re going to aggravate your wounds. Let me up.”

“Noo.” North groans, voice coated with a mixture of frustration, pain, and desire, tightening his grip on York’s rear. “I need you York. I need you so bad. Please?”

“Hush.” York soothes, eyebrows raising. North doesn’t ask for anything. Ever. He’s dominant in the bedroom and if he wants something he takes it. Even in the rare moments that Wash can get him begging, North still manages to take control. “I promise I’ll take care of you. We just need to do this in a different way, because no offense, but you aren’t in any condition for me to ride you.”

“I’m not a doll, York.” North’s reply is edged with exasperation and annoyance as he releases his hold on the brunette. “It’s just a few bullet wounds. I’m not going to break if you put a little pressure on me.”

“Hey now. I didn’t say you would. I’d just prefer you not be so overwhelmed by pain that you can’t feel the pleasure.” He answers mildly before rolling to the side and shuffling down the bed, hands carefully hiking up North’s shirt so he can place gentle kisses on the bruises he memorized earlier. The muscles beneath his lips twitch and jump at the contact, but York can feel North relaxing beneath him as brushes his lips across a bruise on the right side of the other man’s ribs. He’s careful to avoid the bandages covering the holes riddling his lover’s chest as he continues to administer his own style of treatment. Hooking his thumbs into the waistband of North’s underwear, York tugs it down smoothly, pausing briefly to nip at the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh and draw out a low moan. “Told you I’d make ya feel good.”

“Yeah, yeah. You win.” North mutters. “Still hard though. Should probably fix that before you start bragging.”

“Yes sir.” York mocks teasingly as he slides the boxer-briefs off the rest of the way, receiving a stifled chuckle when his fingers brush against the back of North’s knee. The man has a few ticklish spots and York’s memorized them all. Shedding his clothes quickly, the brunette pauses to take North in. There is a slight blush of arousal staining his cheeks and his hair is even more tousled from their makeout session. In short, the tall blonde looks appropriately disheveled and completely fuckable. If it wasn’t for the swatch of pristine gauze wrapped around North’s broad torso, York would do just that. As it is, he crawls up the bed, settling between creamy muscular thighs so that their erections are lined up.

Spitting on his palm, he wraps a hand around both of them. While his hands aren’t quite a large as North’s, they’re still big enough for one to adequately stroke them both, so York uses his other one to play with his lover’s balls, squeezing and tugging gently before rolling them in his palm. The resulting moan is louder than usual with the pain medication dulling his inhibitions. He thrusts upward into York’s fist and the infiltrations expert relishes the friction that drags across his cock. He allows himself to retaliate with a thrust of his own before speeding up the movement of his hand.

North groans again. “Oh god York. Your hand feels so good.”

Releasing North’s sack, York adjusts, leaning in to cover North’s mouth in a sloppy kiss as he gains enough leverage to slide their lengths together more firmly. Snapping his hips against the taller man’s, York increases the speed and pressure, releasing the kiss so he can greedily bask in the rare noises North is making. Noises that get increasingly more needy as York pushes the two of them towards release. When North finally reaches completion, spurting hot come over York’s fist as he continues to stroke them, it’s with a loud moan that echoes across the room instead of the soft sigh that the other man is used to. The sound pushes York over the edge and he finishes with a moan of his own.

Rolling off to the side, York collapses onto the bed next to North, tangling their legs together as he wipes his hand off with the offered tissue. Resting his head on North’s impressive bicep, he allows a satisfied grin to spread over his face as the other man presses a soft kiss into his hair. There is a note of exhaustion in his voice. “Thank you York. You were right, that was exactly what I needed. I love you.”

“Love you too man.” York sighs contently before his stomach growls, causing both men to start. He levers himself into a sitting position. “Maybe I should get some food though. Do you want anything? I can bring you back a sandwich or something.”

North yawns. “Mmm, yeah. A sandwich would be good. Also some water please.”

“Of course.” He leans over to place a chaste kiss to the corner of North’s mouth before scooting off the bed to tug on his clothing. “I’ll be back soon. Get some more rest.”

* * *

The trip to the mess is uneventful; nobody really eats this late unless they are returning from a mission or a training session runs late. York collects a couple of sandwiches, turkey for North and one with cold cuts for himself, stopping at the cooler to grab three of the largest bottles of water they have. Retracing his steps, he knocks on the door before punching in North’s code when he receives no answer. This time the sight that greets him is adorable.

North hasn’t moved far from the spot that York left him in. He has, however, gathered the second pillow to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around it as he snores softly. York crosses the room quietly, setting down his gathered goods before opening North’s side drawer to locate the man’s data pad. Loading up the camera function, York retreats towards the door, making sure he can fit all of North in the picture. He snaps a couple, choosing the best one and sending it to himself. Wash will want to see it later, he’s sure. Mission completed, York deletes the pictures from North’s device, replacing it in the drawer before attempting to wake his lover with a gentle shake. As grumpy as North gets when he’s woken, York knows his boyfriend needs to eat.

When the shaking doesn’t work he turns to more direct measures. “North! Come on babe, gotta wake up. Food’s here.”

“Nngh. Whaaa?” North tosses an arm over his face, groaning. “Noo York. Iss night. Night is for sleeping.”

“I know. But you can sleep after eating, OK?” York coaxes. “I’ll even sleep with you if you want.”

North lets the arm slip from his face, squinting up at York skeptically as he contemplates the offer. “Promise?”

“Promise. Now sit up. I got you your favourite sandwich.” York reaches over to help when he sees North struggle to sit up. Pulling the pillow from the man’s arms, he stuffs it behind him so it effectively props North up. The blonde man uses the opportunity to tug him in for a sleepy kiss, grinning at the small noise of surprise that York makes. The brunette pulls away, tenderly pressing the sandwich and a bottle of water into North’s hands.

North examines the sandwich before taking a bite. “Turkey? York, you’re the best.”

“And don’t you go forgetting it.” York agrees, biting into his own sandwich. There is silence for a while as the two finish their pseudo picnic. North finishes his sandwich first, twisting off the cap of his water and drinking deeply. He offers York a satisfied sigh, screwing the lid back on as York finishes his own sandwich. Reaching over, he pulls the bottle from North’s grasp and sets it on the end table.

“Sleep time now?” North asks, eyes already fluttering closed. York reaches around him to gently tug the pillow out from behind his lover, lowering him softly back down onto the mattress.

“Yep. It’s bed time.” York strips down, sliding under the blankets to press his naked legs against North’s. The taller man tangles them together more firmly, making a happy noise at the contact. Warmth burns in York’s chest at the tiny sound. “I love you North. So fucking much.”

“Mmm love you too silly. But it’s time for quiet now.” North mumbles back, sliding an arm under York to pull him closer. “Sleep’s always better with cuddles.”

York curls in closer. “Agreed.”


	8. Murphy and His Fucking Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mission Wash and Connie are on goes south, dragging their friendship down with it. Wash begins to have his doubts about some of the people involved in Freelancer. And who the fuck does this Murphy guy think he is, making up a damn law about failure?

In the short amount of time that Wash has been alive, he’s realized there are few things more reliable than Murphy and his fucking law. He just wishes that Murphy would get better fucking timing. But, as he’s learned from experience and basic training, war isn’t war unless everything gets fucked. So digging himself out of the rubble of the parking garage he’d been using as cover isn’t as surprising as it could be. At least he’s getting out of this alive instead of being crushed to death like the idiots who blew out the final support with a poorly tossed grenade instead of shooting him while his focus was elsewhere. When he finally gets both arms free, Wash reaches up and twists his helmet back so it sits properly, the blast having knocked it askew. He makes a mental note to discuss it with maintenance because the seals must be faulty or something before sighing with relief when the HUD reboots.

“WASH! Washington you better not be fucking dead!” Connie’s voice rings through the comm as soon as Wash’s audio comes back online, sounding panicked. “Dammit, answer me Wash. Please!”

“Washington here.” Connie’s relieved intake of breath cuts through his speakers. “Sorry about the delay. Got a little heavy and dusty over here and my helmet got knocked about.”

“Don’t scare me like that asshole.” There’s rustling in the background, alerting Wash to the fact that his partner on this mission is moving.

“Hey! It’s not my fault they decided to blow the support out on my hiding place and drop a couple tonnes of concrete on me. How’s our objective coming?” Wash successfully frees his legs, sliding down the hill of rubble that connects what is left of the third storey of the parking structure to the road below. Surveying his surroundings, Wash internally thanks his luck; if he’d been thrown any further he would have landed in the middle of a minefield.

“Intel was wrong. There are three times as many soldiers in here and the data we’re looking for is being stored on a completely different server. It’s gonna take a while.” Wash swears softly as Connie drops her voice to a whisper. “Gotta go silent for a bit Wash. Think you could come up with some sort of distraction that will clear out the east side of the building for me?”

“On it.” Wash picks up a chunk of cement, bouncing it in his palm as he scrutinizes the web of explosives defending the main entrance to the compound. He’s pretty sure the glee is audible in his voice. “I’m sure I can find something to blow up.”

“Sounds loud. Hey Wash? Be careful OK?” There’s something Wash can’t quite place in Connie’s voice when she says that but he chalks it up to frustration with the intel. Connie’s always hated it when their information is wrong. Wash is one of the few people in the program that knows enough about her background to infer that she was part of ONI and probably more capable than any Intelligence Officers involved with Freelancer.

“I will. Don’t get caught. I didn’t bring enough firepower to deal with the amount of personnel you’re reporting and I’d hate to have to improvise.” He receives a snort in response before the link goes quiet. Scooping up an armful of concrete chunks, Wash ducks into the narrow alley between the garage and what he assumes to be a fancy office building, judging from all the marble and glass. After a cursory scouting of his escape route proves it adequate, Wash tosses his makeshift ammo, aiming the throws accurately enough to set off a chain reaction leading up to th main gate. The explosion is a thing of beauty and Wash briefly revels in the spike of endorphins and adrenaline that it causes. The reaction from the compound is almost instantaneous, and he can only compare the flurry of soldiers that appear to what happens when someone disturbs an ant hill.

Wash only maintains his position long enough to take a few potshots at the emerging soldiers with his battle rifle in an attempt to goad them into pursuit. Retreating down the alley, he ducks into the next street, hugging the wall as he moves stealthily towards the south side of the enemy base. If memory serves him correctly, there were some Warthogs in that general area and Connie could probably use a lift.

“Shit. We’re going to need evac ASAP, Wash.” The radio crackles with Connie’s harsh breathing. The shouting in the background of the comm is mirrored by the sound of soldiers rushing into the street behind him. Wash ducks into a doorway, crouching in the shadows as they pass. “Wash do you read? The mission is a scrub; the data is so heavily protected that it’ll take me at least an hour to get far enough into the system to even be able to download it. They knew we were coming Wash.”

Wash holds his position, unable to respond to Connie as the enemy soldiers converge in front of his hiding spot. He curses the accents of his armour for the millionth time; who was the idiot that thought yellow on grey would be a good idea? As Maine and York have so helpfully pointed out, he looks like a fucking highway. And it makes hiding damn near impossible. All one of these soldiers has to do is poke his head through the opening and Wash’s position will be made. Taking a deep breath, Wash scans the room for alternate exits as he sends Connie a quick text comm. - _Pinned down. Be a few. Can you get out?_ -

- _I’ll mng. C U @ LZ?_ \- He feels a rush of relief when Connie replies with the type of shorthand that her and Maine use specifically to annoy the crap out of Wash. She can’t be that bad off if she’s still doing stupid shit to bother him.

- _Rendezvous in 10 or I’m coming to find you. Wash out._ \- Her confirmation flashes across his HUD, briefly catching his attention before Wash’s focus snaps to the entrance of his little alcove. Or more specifically, to the insurrectionist soldier poking his rifle through said entrance. Rolling forward, he comes up under the barrel of the surprised man’s gun, pushing it towards the ceiling as he draws his combat knife. Using the momentum of his roll, Wash springs upright, slamming the blade of his Ka-bar through the light fabric covering his enemy’s throat. The blade slides in easily and he catches the falling man, lowering him quietly to the ground before tugging out his knife with a slight twist to stop the serrated edge from getting caught in the dying man’s trachea. He pauses for a moment to carefully wipe his blade off on the Innie’s fatigues.

Flicking his eyes down across his HUD, Wash activates the motion tracker function, studying the data pinging in from the towers Connie hacked into at the beginning of this mission. Working with trackers piggybacked off of enemy systems is not one of his favourite things to do; in fact, Wash hates using the trackers at all. They are notorious for malfunctioning and the responding pings they provide are laggy at best, and imaginary at worst. Plus he finds the overlaying display function distracting. But sometimes you have to work with what you have, and at least they’ll provide him with some semblance of what the situation in the road is like. Once he’s confident that all the red dots have passed his current hiding place, Wash slips into the road and cautiously heads back towards the parking garage. A quick swipe of his eyes across the screen closes out the tracker overlay and breathes a little easier as his field of vision clears.

Sweeping his eyes through his HUD menu again, he enables the compass point, setting it to the predetermined evac point as he navigates the debris strewn streets. One of the many problems that Wash has with this city is that all the damn buildings and streets look the same which means he has to use the stupidly set up and completely distracting functions of his helmet. It moments like these that make him really miss having York on missions to bitch to. He’d understand Wash’s frustration about having your field of vision obstructed. North, on the other hand, would probably lecture him for not using his trackers properly. He’s constantly nagging the entire team about using their equipment, almost to the point of distraction. As caring as Wash knows his boyfriend is, sometimes he can be incredibly overbearing and patronizing. There have been moments where even York has threatened to mute North. The only person that hasn’t straight up told him to shut it at some point on a mission is South, and Wash chalks that up to some sort of mutual sibling tolerance. Sure it’s true that, for the majority of the time, North has the patience of a saint and is the only one on the team that can consistently handle his sister and her intense emotional outbursts, but South is equally as patient with her brother and his overwhelming need to mother the entire team. He covers for her when she does stupid shit to blow off steam, and in return she lets him lecture her about stupid things like eating her vegetables, proper armour maintenance, and setting her trackers on missions. And while she doesn’t always act on his advice, she never tells him to shut up. Wash sometimes finds himself feeling envious of their bond; he’s never had a relationship in which he can trust someone to know exactly what he needs at the same time he knows exactly what they need.

A round embeds itself in the wall less than an inch away from Wash’s head, causing him to start and drop to the ground cursing. Trust thoughts of North and York to pull him away from the present. This mission has already gone to hell and here he is getting all tied up in his head dwelling on his jealousy regarding his lover’s relationship with his twin. Rolling into cover, he brings his battle rifle up, pressing the scope to his eye and activating the zoom function as he scans the area for the bastard that just tried to snipe him. A glint of sun reflecting off metal stands out against the mostly blown out glass of a tall office building, alerting Wash to the potential location of the shooter. He waits patiently behind his cover until the sniper shifts and his upper half comes into view before adjusting for the altitude and the weird gravity on this planet. A light squeeze of the trigger sends four of six bullets ripping through the man's chest, just above the protective layer offered by the Kevlar embedded in his uniform. The other two punch through the glass as the enemy sniper collapses and Wash silently thanks the recent time spent in the shooting range with North's voice uttering tips in his ear and the ever changing variables that the simulations offer. He’s always had an affinity for mid-range weapons, but every since North’s taken to watching him train, his accuracy has risen by several percentage points, taking his confidence with it. Wash’s specialty lies in heavy weapons; the bigger and more explosive, the better. So perfecting his skill with the battle rifle has him feeling well rounded.

Pulling up his trackers again, Wash does a quick scan to make sure he's clear before blinking them out of existence. Rolling out of cover, he sprints across the road, double timing it to the LZ. Tucking himself into a barely visible alcove situated in the corner of the courtyard 479er designated as their pick-up location, Wash radios command.

"Agent Washington to command. Requesting emergency extraction at site Zulu. Mission is a scrub. Repeat. Mission is a scrub." Wash keeps his voice calm and emotionless during the transmission. He hates having to call for pick-up on failed missions. It's bad enough being reamed out during the debrief without having to catch flack on the radio too.

"Affirmative Agent Washington. Evac orders have already been issued and a bird is enroute to your location. ETA is 15 minutes. Bunker down and keep the LZ clear. Command out." Wash heaves a sigh of relief; last time he requested evac the Director intercepted the operator and gave him a full blown lecture on completing the objective. If Carolina hadn't interrupted by demanding to know where evac was, Wyoming probably would have bled out. Sometimes Wash wonders who the fuck is actually running this Project. He's a good soldier and he follows his orders, but that doesn't stop him from wondering whether the Director actually knows anything about military operations.

"Thanks for calling it in Connie. Our ride should be here in 15. What's your situation?" Wash idly flicks back to the tracking display as he scans the perimeter. There is a burst of static over the comm, muddling her reply and causing Wash to wince. Their helmets are equipped with the best comm tech available, making static virtually nonexistent. The only two causes that Wash can think of are helmet damage and outside interference. Hoping for the former, he fires off a quick text comm. - _Didn't catch that. Static on the line. You OK?_ -

- _Didn't call for evac. GTFO now. Must b intercepting calls._ \- Her reply is almost instantaneous and Wash curses. No wonder it was so easy to get to the coordinates. They were probably hoping to catch both Agents at once and save themselves from what could turn out to be an epic and deadly game of hide and seek.

- _Contact command and request extraction at either Charlie or Tango if you can. Be careful and keep moving. Stay off the comm unless it's an emergency._ \- Wash pulls up the map overlay on his HUD. Highlighting the extraction points, he calculates the best route. Both Charlie and Tango are southeast of his current position, Tango being a bit more of a hike but probably the better bet. Setting the compass function to the new coordinates, Wash groans. His shortest route takes him through 12 miles of heavily occupied enemy territory. This might be his second worst idea ever. Of all time.

- _Cnt get cmd. Jammed. C U @ tango. GL_.-

That is not good news. Chances are the entire city is under some sort of signal blocker which means getting out is going to be a nightmare. If Tango falls under the umbrella of the no-frequency zone then this mission is going to require some major sabotage before they’re through. Refocusing on the map overlay, Wash pinpoints the most likeliest of locations of the equipment causing the interference. There are four radio towers that he assumes they’d piggyback their blockers off of within a 2 mile radius of the new LZ coordinates. Deciding the best course of action is to take down the towers before attempting to contact command again, Wash adds the eastern and northern towers to his compass indicator before informing Connie of his plan. - _Take out the radio towers around Tango. I’ve got the ones to the North and the East. After they go down we’ll try for command again. Confirm._ -

- _K. tty wen it’s dwn._ -

Plan confirmed, Wash trashes the overlay, clearing his HUD of everything except the compass point. A quick ammo check informs him that his current mag has 13 rounds left and he only has a single replacement mag left for his battle rifle. The clip in his M6 is full but he lost the two spares he brought when the garage collapsed on him. In short, Wash is probably fucked. He blames Murphy. Seriously, who the fuck makes a law about everything going wrong. How is that even a thing? Sighing, he resigns himself to scrounging ammo as he goes. A gun is a gun, regardless of who it belonged to before, and weapons are Wash’s specialty so he’s sure he can manage.

* * *

Even with the jeep that Wash boosts it still takes him half of an hour to navigate the rubble strewn streets and arrive at the northern radio tower. Finding the car is pure luck, really, and it allows him to avoid the heaviest occupied areas without wasting time or ammo. In fact he doesn’t even encounter resistance until he is within three blocks of the tower. He’s already been forced to ditch the vehicle after a particularly brutal area of destruction demolished the street, requiring him to climb over a small mountain of concrete and iron supports. Flipping through his displays, Wash notes his distance to the objective as well as the red dots alerting him of enemy movement.

Slinking stealthily passed the main road, Wash ducks into the alley his HUD displayed as empty. He knows that it eventually meets up with a populated one, but the two streets running parallel to it are heavily guarded while the alleyway, which has been poorly sealed off is not. Boosting oneself over a brick wall in power armour is harder than you’d think, and Wash makes an undignified attempt at scrambling for footholds before he finds enough leverage to roll over the top. The gel layer of his suit absorbs the shock of the 12 foot drop easily and Wash pushes himself into a jog before the rest of his body even registers that he’s landed.

Throwing himself out of the alley and to the left, he rolls into a crouch releasing a precise spray of bullets that takes the enemy soldiers by surprise, killing three, dropping a fourth and making the other three scramble for cover. By the time they’ve regrouped enough to return fire, Wash is already diving over the low sandbag barricade. He snatches up the MA5 from one of the dead soldiers, stashing his battle rifle on the magstrip running down the back of his armour. Overlaying the layers of display again, Wash lets his HUD pinpoint his enemies’ locations. Using the cover the sandbags and empty ammo crate offer, he crawls on his stomach until he’s on the other side of the barricade of one of the remaining soldiers. Flipping himself over the short wall dividing them, he smashes the butt of his borrowed assault rifle into the man’s face, efficiently incapacitating him. Springing over another manufactured wall and into a turreted machine gun pit, Wash showers the other Innies with bullets. His aim isn’t as good this time around; the assault rifle isn’t as accurate as his own weapon. Instead of hitting his targets, the stream of projectiles slams into the taller area of their refuge, raining down sand and wooden fragments. Wash isn’t nearly as lucky however, and the return fire catches him by surprise, bullets glancing off his chest plate and punching through the Kevlar and neoprene covering his ribs simultaneously.

He grunts in discomfort as his HUD flashes red, informing him that, yes, there is in fact a bullet now lodged in his third rib. The unpleasant sting of biofoam floods into the area, sealing off the wound until Wash can receive proper medical treatment. Staggering back a step, he adjusts his aim just in time to watch the enclosed shelter cave in on his two assailants. His previous round of firing must have created enough structural damage to the makeshift bunker, causing it to collapse. Wash can’t say he isn’t relieved as he takes a moment to assess his wound. The biofoam should keep him from losing any blood and the minor doses of painkillers his medsuite is providing him with ensures that he’ll be able to complete his side of their new objective. As long as he doesn’t get sloppy again, that is.

The readout on his helmet informs him that all enemies between him and the tower have been eliminated, so Wash makes a beeline for the radio transmitter. Relief burns through his veins when it becomes apparent that the elevator is still in working order. As fit as he is, he wasn’t looking forward to climbing up 29 flights of stairs to reach the roof. Especially not with a bullet scraping against his ribs every few steps. As it is, the single set of steps that leads to the roof is hardly noticeable. When studying the the layout of the equipment fails to provide him with any useful knowledge, Wash slaps one the pieces of C4 he always has on him to the base of the tower and wires it with a remote detonator. The elevator ride down is just as uneventful as the ascent was, and Wash eliminates the compass point for the northern communications tower as he studies the map again.

Retracing his steps, he heads east and ducks back into the alley he’d used to avoid the guards earlier, hoisting himself up the fire escape and over the problematic brick wall from earlier. The compass arrow points him southeast, so after carefully surveying his surroundings and motion trackers, Wash heads through the maze of streets. He briefly considers collecting his abandoned jeep before deciding against it; this area of the city has suffered a lot of damage from ongoing battles and most of the streets are blocked with debris and rubble. The eastern tower is a little under three miles away, so by his calculations, and taking into account his injury, he estimates he’ll be there in under half an hour if he pushes himself. A mile into the journey, Wash decides he’s far enough away from the first tower to set off the C4 and provide a distraction. He only pauses long enough to locate the detonator and thumb the switch before he pushes himself back into a run.

- _Nice 1. South rly dwn 2._ \- Connie’s text comm flashes across the bottom of his display as he cuts through a courtyard, ducking down behind a stone planter as half a dozen Insurrectionist soldiers head towards the smoking ruins Wash just created. Once they’ve passed he consults his HUD again. The idiots have only left two guards behind to watch the entrance of the office building this relay is located on. Dropping his stolen weapon, Wash whips out his battle rifle, firing a single bullet into each of the guards exposed necks with the casualness that comes with so much practice. This time he doesn’t even bother examining the setup, opting instead to toss half a dozen grenades through the the door, triggering only one of them before taking the stairs two at a time in his bid to escape.

As predicted, the stairs turn out to be a good choice when the power flickers out, even if it takes him an an extra 5 minutes to navigate the stairwell with his HUD’s crappy night vision. By the time Wash reaches the lobby his side is aching, despite the additional dose of painkillers his suit injects into him. He takes a moment to catch his breath and eliminate the compass point before updating Connie. - _3 down, 1 to go. See you in the middle._ -

- _Yep. Bout 5 mins bhnd you. I’ll call cmd aftr. Clr the LZ 4 us._ -

- _On it._ \- He can feel his energy flagging as pushes himself through the two miles to the coordinates they’ve dubbed Tango site. The trackers indicate a small squad of soldiers patrolling the street across from the park they’ll be picked up in. Realizing his mistake, Wash thanks whoever is looking out for him today. In his planning he overlooked the fact that there was also a transmitter at the rendezvous location, but his creative use of grenades for the last tower means that his second block of plastic explosives is still safely stashed in its regular compartment.

With the mission’s end firmly in his sights and the obvious opportunity to glean more ammo if needed, Wash no longer concerns himself with conserving his bullets. Ejecting his nearly spent magazine, he slams a new one home and sets the battle rifle to automatic. The spray of bullet mows down the enemy soldiers, killing four of them and setting the other two well on the path of death.

The building doesn’t have an elevator, so Wash sprints up the four flights of stairs, slaps the C4 and detonator to the tower, and dashes back down. Hitting the trigger, he blows apart the relay moments before Connie’s voice rings clearly over the comm channel. “Command this is Agent Connecticut requesting immediate evac at site Tango. Mission was a failure and the enemy is on to us. Repeat, mission is a failure, need immediate extraction.”

The wait has Wash tensing nervously, despite the fact the pause before they receive a response can’t be longer than a minute. All the breath rushes out of him in relief when the answer comes through clearly. “This is the Mother of Invention responding to Agent Connecticut. Your ride is on the way. Clear an LZ and prepare for pick-up. Do we need to alert medical for standby?”

Wash clenches his hands into fists, hesitating to speak up. He doubts he’ll need immediate medical attention with such a minor wound, so he lets it slide when Connie answers with a negative.

“Bird is 10 minutes out. Be ready for extraction, Agents. Command out.”

A couple minutes after the transmission cuts out, Connie plops herself down next to Wash, making him jump. His reaction makes him frown; he must be more fatigued than he thought. Apparently it also worries his partner because her voice is laced with concern when she addresses him. “Alright Wash? It’s not like you to space out like that when we’re still on a mission. Hardly anyone ever catches you off guard.”

“Mmm.” Wash hums noncommittally. “It’s just been a tough one is all. Probably suffering from low blood sugar. And the medsuite painkillers  makes me a little loopy once I’ve stopped.”

“You’re hurt? Where?” Connie looks him over carefully, gently prodding at the wound when she finds it. “You idiot. Why didn’t you tell me you were shot? Now we’re going to have to call command on our way home to request medical.”  
“It’s just a minor injury Connie. Relax.” Wash grits out, attempting to ignore the flares of pain her fingers cause with every touch. “I’ll just visit the medbay when we’re done with our debriefing.”

“Wash…” The glare she shoots him would wilt a less stubborn person. “This is not a minor wound. There is a **bullet** inside of you.”

“So? It’s not life threatening Connie. I’ll be fine.” He shrugs off her concern, pushing to his feet as the familiar pelican of 479er lands in the open field. Connie follows as he clambers into the plane, catching his arm gently when he stumbles. Wash allows her to steer him into a seat with a mumble of thanks, passing out immediately after she pulls the bar over him.

* * *

By the time the pelican lands in the ship’s hangar, Wash has regained consciousness. Despite Connie’s earlier misgivings he assumes, due to the lack of medical personnel there to greet them, that she did not inform the MoI of his wound. Staggering upright, he hides his wince of pain at the twinge of his ribs as he follows her down the ramp. The Counselor meets them as they exit the ship, escorting them to their debriefing.

Wash remains silent during the walk; the Counselor has always had that effect on him. The man is downright creepy at the best of times and he isn’t really in optimal condition to politely deal with the unease he feels. Connie does nothing to break the quiet either, allowing the man to lead them down the corridor without comment. When they finally reach the usual after-mission room the Director has his back towards the door, observing the stars through the large energy shield enforced window. Wash’s stiffens as the hairs on the back of his neck start to rise and he can feel Connie tensing beside him. When one of your best friends is selectively mute, you learn to read body language and the Director’s posture is screaming enraged disappointment. The Counselor clears his throat to alert the other man of their presence and it takes every ounce of discipline in Wash’s body to hold his salute and not flinch away when the waves of rage are directed towards them.

“Agents Connecticut and Washington, what was unclear about the objectives of your mission?” The dangerous note in the man’s voice causes Wash’s right hand to shake. “The data you were sent to recover was of the utmost importance and now that we have lost our chance at recovering it using stealth they will be prepared when we come for it again.”

“Sir our intelligence was incomplete. There were twice as many enemy troops than we were informed of and the data was located in a completely different area of the base.” Connie offers up a similar explanation to what she gave Wash. He remains silent; after all, his part in the mission was simply to provide muscle and cover when she needed it. Wash doesn’t know much about recovering data. Hell, he can barely fix a jeep radio or figure out how to reboot his datapad when it glitches. Maybe he should get York to help him with that side of training. It would be a good skill to have. Although York does have a tendency to turn any type of one on one sessions into something a little less innocent. Wash allows his mind to wander as Connie walks the Director through their mission.

He tunes back in at the tail end of the Director reaming Connie out. The shorter Agent is trembling with barely contained frustration and embarrassment and Wash almost reaches out to comfort her before remembering where he is. Once their CO has finished berating her over the failed mission he turns his attention to Wash. “Agent Washington is there anything else you would like to add to this debriefing?”

“Only that I also believe the intelligence report to be off regarding the objective’s location and personnel count. There was easily twice as many soldiers on the ground than reported and their equipment was far more advanced than we were lead to believe. We had to take down five radio jammers before we could call for extraction. Two of the supposedly safe landing zones were either overrun or being monitored, sir. I believe we were lucky to survive with only minor injuries.” Wash is sure he’s probably repeated half of what Connie has already expressed, but he honestly can’t focus right now and it doesn’t hurt to state it again.

The Director nods. “It is my understanding that you completed your objectives to their fullest extent and then some, Agent Washington. As such, your score will change to reflect that. You are dismissed Agents.”

* * *

 

Wash can pinpoint the exact moment that Connie’s frustration turns into blazing anger. The shortest member of Alpha squad doesn’t often allow her anger to show, but when it does her temper is legendary. The last time he was there to witness it, he ended up with a bloody nose after she threw a chair at him. Even so, Wash feels the need to check up on her as she storms off into the locker room. The first thing he notices when he enters the room is the new and very large screen displaying the leader board and how it must be visible no matter where you stand. His name now rests in the number six position thanks to three one hundredths of a percent his score has increased by. Connie is sitting on a bench, shoulders hunched and helmet off. He moves closer, hovering behind uncertainly.

“It wasn’t your fault, Connie.” His voice wavers. This conversation is going to suck.

“Easy for you to say. You didn’t drop the ball.” She shifts defensively, voice painfully full of doubt.

“The ball got dropped.” Panicked bells go off in Wash’s mind; he’s always been awful when it comes to saying the right thing so he just lets whatever comes first push its way out. It ends up being some useless platitude about it being the entire team’s responsibility. Her shoulders hunch up even more as her rage finds a new target. Obviously whatever he said wasn’t the right thing.

“Dammit. Why are you doing that?” She demands, the annoyance clear in her voice.

Wash’s confusion grows. What the hell did he just say to garner this type of reaction. Next time he’s going to deliberate over every word before he speaks. He lets the bafflement leech into his voice. “What am I doing?”

“Making excuses for me.” Her voice grows hard, tone colder than she’s ever used with him. “I’m not making excuses for myself. Why are you?”

Wash is growing frustrated now. What started out with him checking on his friend has turned into her letting out some pent up frustration at his expense. As much as he gets where she’s coming from, he finds that completely unfair. He doesn’t even try to keep his annoyance out of his next reply. “I’m trying to make you feel better.”

“Yeah? Great.” The sarcasm in her voice hits the ceiling before she lets it fall into the realm of condescending. “Why don’t you go make Carolina feel better? Go pat Maine on the head? See how that works out for you.”

He deflates a little at that. They both know the last suggestion would probably turn out more amusing that dangerous anyway, so her point is practically moot. Instead of mentioning this, however, Wash tries again. “We all make mistakes.”

“No. We don’t.” Her tone is back to angry in a flash as she pushes to her feet, pacing between the window that displays the board and the bench that she’s just vacated. “That’s the point. We don’t all make mistakes. Some of us very specifically make mistakes and others don’t seem to make any at all.”

The last part is an obvious jab at him, so he embraces his anger and annoyance. “Connie come on.”

“That’s why they’re doing all of this.These missions, the rankings. They’re drawing a line between us Wash.” Her gestures become less controlled in her distress so she plants her closed fists on her hips, turning away from him in an attempt to regain some of her composure. “And you’re either on one side of that line or you’re on the other. It’s getting pretty goddamn clear which side I’m on.”

“No one thinks like that.” He can feel her slipping through his fingers in that moment, so he reaches out to her, placing his hand on her shoulder. “We’re a team.”

“I’m not talking about you guys.” She shakes dismissively. “I mean them, him.”

“The Director?” Wash barely represses the shock in his voice. It’s not that he doesn’t have his doubts, but he’d never have the bravery necessary to state it out loud, especially when the location they’re in is most likely being monitored. “He’s given us everything; he’s helping us.”

“Helping us?” She scoffs, staring at him scornfully. “Wake up. Wake the fuck up. He’s filtering us. This is a selection process Wash. I don’t know for what but… If you’re not at the top of that board you’re not worth anything to him.”

Her passion shows through as she gestures at the board, like she is earnestly trying to get him to see it. He has to end this conversation soon, before she says something even more incriminating. “You’re just overreacting. You’ve always been hard on yourself Connie.”

“Not as hard as they are.” Her voice freezes over again as she pauses, pushing her helmet into his chest. It keeps dropping as she continues. “Not nearly as hard as they’re going to be.”

He clutches her helmet tightly as she turns to walk away, breath catching with hope when she pauses. Maybe he still has a chance to fix this. That hope dies almost immediately when her voice echoes, soft and cold. “And don’t call me Connie. It makes me sound like a fucking kid. Call me CT.”

The sorrow fills his chest when she halts again on her way out to utter a warning. “Oh, and that line I talked about? You better hurry up and figure out what side you’re on Agent Washington. Before they figure it out for you.”

Wash is left there to stare at the visage that he’s come to associate with his friend, feelings of rage, confusion, sadness, and doubt flooding his mind. He’s not sure how long he stands there before the throbbing in his side reminds him that he needs to see medical. Stripping his armour, Wash stashes it his locker, tossing the ripped undersuit in the equip disposal bin. He’ll have to put in a requisition for another tomorrow. Stumbling into the shower, he scrubs the grim from his skin, ignoring the disintegrating biofoam. Satisfied with his cleanliness, Wash wraps a towel around his waist before returning to his locker to pull on some sweats. He decides against a top; no point in donning on a clean shirt when he’s probably going to start bleeding before he makes it to medical. Slipping on his shoes, he bundles a t shirt and hoodie over his arm for later before heading down the hall to get patched up.

* * *

Medical keeps him for longer than he’d like. Not that he really has anywhere else to be. His conversation with Connie still has him rattled and he isn’t sure he can face North and York in this current state. Not without them noticing something is wrong and drawing it out of him, at least. Despite the deliberate pain she inflicted on him, Wash can’t risk the chance that one of them will out her. It’s not that he doesn’t trust them completely, because he does. It’s just that both of them have completely different and almost unbendable moral codes, and he’s not sure where borderline treason falls for either of them.

So when he’s finally released from the medbay at 22:00, after three and a half hours of pointless fussing following a simple procedure to remove the bullet, Wash is mildly grateful and surprised, as well as slightly disappointed, that neither man is there to meet him. Even so, rather than taking the time to seek them out Wash heads back to his own bunk to crash for the night. When he arrives there is a notification on his datapad; a request for him to meet with internals at 09:30 tomorrow. He sends a confirmation to F.L.I.S.S. before crashing out.

Wash sleeps in the next morning because he can. Mornings after missions are usually left clear for any of the Agents involved so that they can get an adequate amount of sleep for recovery. Wash normally doesn’t take advantage of the option but the added exhaustion from his physical and emotional wounds has robbed him of any desire to focus on training or breakfast this morning.

He slips into the locker room just before 09:00 to gear up, knowing full well that all the other Freelancers, save maybe Connie, should be in training. As he suspected, the area is completely empty. Sighing with relief, Wash pulls out his spare undersuit, stripping quickly and stepping into it. Despite all the practice and being one the quickest in the project to armour up, it still takes him the better part of 20 minutes before the last piece is secured.

Leaving the locker room, Wash allows his feet to carry him passed the briefing room he was in yesterday, narrowly avoiding South as she barrels out the room, seething with rage. The tension drains from his shoulders; from the looks of things he isn’t the only one that’s had a rough mission. A brief flicker of worry shoots through his heart. Hopefully a bad mission doesn’t mean North is hurt. Continuing passed the partially opened door, Wash catches North’s patient voice. Armed with knowledge that his lover is alive, Wash steels himself, entering the door that the message indicated.

The meeting goes a lot faster than Wash had expected it to. He fills out the paperwork they ask him to as they fire off some random questions about the weather on the previous planet. He tells them everything they want to know that doesn’t have to do with Connie or his relationship. Most of the questions seem to revolve around outgoing transmissions from within the ship. The Counselor suggests that whoever is sending the messages is probably the same person providing the Resistance with intel on missions which will ultimately end up with people dying. Wash answers earnestly, hoping that the man won’t catch on to the fact he’s lying. “I’m not sure if anyone in Freelancer would actually do that sir. The Director has made a positive impact on the lives of most of the agents in the program and I doubt anyone would actively betray the trust of their teammates.”

The Counselor nods agreeably, sending a shiver down Wash’s aching back. “Well Agent Washington, you let us know if you catch anyone sneaking off to make a call.”

“Yes sir.”

“In that case, Agent Washington, you are dismissed for now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah.. This is a little late. Oops!  
> I'm aware that this chapter is severely lacking in Norkington interaction... But I am trying to follow canon for the time being. And the relationship between Connie and Wash is important to me. Connie is important to me. That being said, I am looking forward to finishing the next chapter. The focus will be back on our boys, I promise. And it's going to be a doozy!


	9. Arguments and Hand Grenades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> North has a bad day that includes fighting with the people he's closest to. York's day is infinitely worse.

When North wakes up at 04:23 it’s because the throbbing pain that races across his chest with every breath. The agony sharpens his senses more than it probably should, allowing him to analyze his position. There is a strange numbness in his arm, the type that comes from something cutting off the circulation, not quite enough to distract him from the stabbing sensations dancing over his torso. Even the welcoming warmth nestled against his right side feels overwhelming at this particular moment.

North rolls his shoulder slightly, testing how much he can move without waking the brunette currently using him as a pillow. He has to suppress the urge to flinch away when the action causes York to cuddle in closer, placing pressure on his injuries. Shifting away carefully, he extends his other arm towards the side table in search of the painkillers he strategically placed the night before. An involuntary groan falls from his lips when the stretching makes his stitches pull painfully. The noise is enough to wake his bed mate, and the infiltrationist immediately shoots up, concern written on his face.

“Oh my god. You’re hurting. Did I hurt you? I hurt you didn’t I? Fuck I’m sorry.” York’s hands flutter, as if he wants to soothe away the hurt but he’s afraid to touch. North pushes down a flare of irritation at his boyfriend when the other man untangles their legs to lean over him, effectively halting any chance of him reaching the medication. He opens his mouth to shush York but the other man continues to fret. “What do I do North? Do you need me to contact medical? I can get the doc down here. It’ll only take a moment. I’ll go right now OK? Just don’t move.”

“York! Stop. Calm down for fuck sake.” North envelopes York’s flapping hands in his own, forcing him to keep them still. Holding eye contact, he calmly informs the man leaning over him of the problem. “It isn’t anything you did, idiot. The meds wore off and my chest is fucking agony. All I want are the painkillers on the table and some water.”

York’s eyes widen in understanding and North takes that as a cue that he can let go of the man’s hands to reach for the pills again. However, when he extends his arm to grab them, the brunette is already darting in to snag the bottle before he can. York opens the container and shakes two of the little white tablets out in North’s hand before passing him a bottle of water. “Here you go babe. Next time you can just ask me and I’ll get them for you. Ask me for anything you want actually. I’m still not done taking care of you.”

“Are you kidding me?” North practically growls, annoyance flaring in response to the coddling York is giving him, mixing with the pain and destroying his self restraint. He carefully props himself up on his elbows to watch the man’s movements. “I’m a fucking soldier, York. It’s just a few bullet wounds, nothing I can’t handle. I’m not a porcelain doll, so stop acting as if touching me will make me shatter. Have a little more faith in me. I can take care of myself, I don’t **need** you.”

There is a moment of stillness as York aborts his movement towards his recently vacated side of the bed. His eyes widen with shock and hurt for a moment before he wipes all emotion from them, mouth hardening into an unhappy line. North can feel his annoyance ebbing as they stare at each other, before the brunette’s piercing gaze drops, breaking their connection. Dismay filters through the cracks to replace the previous emotion as he watches York locate his clothes and pull them on, his actions jerky and hands shaking. It takes North until he’s watching the shorter man striding angrily towards the door to realize that York is leaving. He’s leaving and he isn’t even going to look at North before he goes. It’s suddenly very hard to swallow.

“Wait.” He watches the other man’s back muscles tense as his hand hovers over the door release. York pauses but does not turn around. North means to offer his lover an apology, but instead what comes out sounds more like an accusation. “Where are you going? I thought you were going to stay and take care of me?”

He winces when the infiltrations expert slaps his hand down hard on the button. There is a furious hurt contained in his voice as he calls out over his shoulder. “Get fucked North. Just because you’re in pain doesn’t mean you’re allowed be a fucking asshole and mock me.”

North watches the door hiss closed behind him with shock. York hardly ever leaves an argument unfinished; he hates unresolved conflict. Something about the tension being distracting. Lowering himself back down to the mattress, he lets out a heavy sigh, ignoring the flicker of pain it causes. It isn’t even 05:00 yet and his day is already shitty. Throwing an arm across his face, North starts brainstorming ideas about how he’s going to apologize to York

* * *

The sound of a fist pounding on his door startles North from the light slumber he’s fallen back into. The clock now displays the more reasonable hour of 07:15. There is another round of pounding before someone punches the code in and the door slides open. South swaggers in, confidence and cockiness on full display. “Yo fucknut. It’s time to get up darling brother of mine. We have a mission debrief at 08:00 and your boytoy so helpfully and politely informed me that you were still fucking sleeping. Get your ass out of bed and let’s go gear up.”

Her eyebrows raise in surprise when North visibly cringes at the mention of York, but that doesn’t stop her from levering him out of bed. Her hands are uncharacteristically gently so he cooperates, carefully maneuvering himself into sitting position. South wraps her hands around his wrists, hauling him to his feet. It’s only when the blankets are slipping off his legs does North remember he’s not wearing anything. Her eyebrows shoot back up again as a faint blush stains both their cheeks. “Christ North, a little warning would have been nice. Now I’m doubly confused as to why Fuckboy is so grumpy this morning.”

North groans, accepting the clothing she shoves at him. Despite the initial embarrassment, neither have ever been particularly uncomfortable with each other’s nudity. When you share everything with someone for your entire life you get used to things like that. He sighs when she pokes his shoulder in her weird form of encouragement. “Ah yeah… I kind of fucked that up this morning. But you know how I am when I first wake up. And the pain didn’t help anything. He was being so damn fussy and I pretty much told him to fuck off. He’s really angry, hey?”

“Just a little bit, yeah.” South squeezes his bare shoulder where her hand rests, propping him up so he doesn’t fall over as he pulls on his sweats. She drops it from his shoulder as soon as he’s hiked them up over his hips.The action is comforting, sending a wave of warm affection through him despite how short lived it is. “Said something about you being alone in your bunk not needing anyone. What’s up with that?”

“He told me that he’d get me anything I needed this morning.” North’s voice is muffled by the shirt he’s pulling over his head. He hopes it can hide the note of shame that he failed at concealing. He tugs the shirt down the rest of the way with a slight wince when his stitches pinch, turning to meet the eyes that are so similar and yet so different from his own. South’s gaze is always harder and colder than his, even when it’s as full of concern as it is now. She must have picked up on that shame. He sucks in a deep breath before continuing. “And I decided the best response was to tell him that I didn’t need him. He left angry, South. He didn’t even try to finish the fight. He just walked away. York never walks away. I think I screwed up pretty bad. What if I lose him?”

“He’ll get over it.” South scoffs. “That idiot is too stubborn to let go of something he wants that easily. And if he doesn’t come around on his own… Well I’m sure Washington will handle it. The rookie is even more smitten with you than you are with York. And we all know that Wash is creative when it comes to getting what he wants.”

“You think?” North relaxes a little with her reassurance. “I always thought Wash was more into York than me. Wait, how do you even know this?”

“Oh my dear naive brother.” South slaps him on the back, hand connecting a few inches to the right of his bandages. Her voice adopts a patronizing note as she mimics his voice. “You should be more careful, North. Not as sneaky as you thought you were, big brother. Your face gets all ridiculous and soft around those two. It’s obvious when you know what you’re looking for.”

“It’s so cute when you try to lie to me.” North can’t help but snort in amusement.“You know I can always tell; there’s no point in even trying anymore. But really, Connie told you, didn’t she?”

The glare South shoots him as they start out for the locker room is all the confirmation North needs. He lets her pout in silence as they make their way through the hallways to gear up. When she catches sight of the clock outside of the training room, however, she breaks the quiet with a string of curses that would make Wash turn pink. North merely makes a sound of agreement; the clock reads 7:30 and no matter how many times you’ve armoured up it still takes at least twenty minutes. And North’s never been the fastest at it, even without being wounded. As it is, he pushes through the pain, quickly shedding his recently donned clothes in favour of the undersuit. By the time he struggles into it, South is already strapping on the last piece of her leg plates. North starts with the parts covering his arms, fumbling with the latches in his rush. The click of South’s chest harness informs him that she’s finished moments before she impatiently bats his hands away from the thigh guard he’s fastening. Her deft fingers attach the rest of his leg plates efficiently as he arranges the chest and back pieces, locking them into place. When the last part of his boot clicks into place, South shoots to her feet, scooping up her orchid coloured helmet. She grasps North’s wrist firmly and drags him out of the locker room at a run, barely allowing him to snatch his own helmet from the bench.

Barreling down the hallway behind South, North is suddenly more appreciative of the centralized location that the locker room is in. However, despite it’s proximity to the room they are being debriefed in, they just barely manage to make it there in time. Pausing in front of the door, they take a minute to pull on their helmets. North feels the instant numbness of the medsuite kicking in the moment his helmet seals and the HUD activates. He can’t contain the sigh of relief when the painkillers chase away the searing burn that has been lingering since the moment he donned on his chest plate. South’s helmet tilts towards him in a gesture of concern. One that he ignores in favour of pulling open the door and strolling casually inside, stopping next to Carolina. His twin follows him through the door, crossing the room behind him and placing herself on the other side of their seafoam coloured teammate. The Director enters a moment later, flanked closely by the Counselor, both men quietly discussing something. North overhears the words “Washington”, “Internals”, and “Next” before they stop across the holoboard from the three agents.

“Good morning Agents South Dakota, North Dakota, and Carolina. This is a debriefing for the intel mission earlier this week.” The Counselor addresses them. “Agent South Dakota, if you would be so kind as to walk us through the mission.”

North blinks in surprise, shifting uncomfortably. The aborted twitch of Carolina’s hands betray her surprise as well, and South’s stance shifts minutely towards the defensive. The fact that the Counselor would call upon South to deliver the debrief is almost disturbing. It’s already been demonstrated on several occasions that South, with all of her strengths, is not adept at these sort of things. She starts off strong, going through the mission step-by-step in meticulous detail and North thinks that maybe, just maybe, this one will go better than the last few. She makes her way through retelling the recon and most of the infiltration without a hiccup, providing all of the necessary details. It isn’t until she reaches the part where the mission gets dicey that her recount stumbles a bit, her annoyance at being discovered seeping into the report. North can see her clenching her fists, visibly trying to clamp down on her emotions before they can bleed through even more. The attempt is partially successful and South’s voice only rises slightly in volume and pitch when she describes North getting shot, dropping almost immediately into the area of annoyance when she finishes up with their evac.

“Thank you, Agent South Dakota.” The Director drawls when she is finished. “Agent Carolina, would you please provide us with a report regarding your part in this mission.”

North allows his attention to drift as Carolina speaks. Normally he’d be listening carefully, but the painkillers from the armour make it hard to focus on anything. It isn’t as bad as the morphine drip they had him on in the medbay but any sort of opiate, no matter how mild, usually has North’s head spinning after the pain has faded completely. As it is, he catches a bit of it, forcing himself to focus when Carolina mentions his name, informing them of his equipment use. He can tell from the way the Counselor is studying him that he’ll catch more flack from that later but he can’t drum up enough energy to really care.

With Carolina’s report drawing to a close, North can feel the Director’s gaze focus on him. “Agent North Dakota, do you have anything to add to either of these reports?”

“No sir. From the sounds of it all the details have been covered sir.” North replies as his brain suddenly decides to cooperate, flooding his senses with every detail in the room. The sudden sensory overload makes him dizzy and he just barely manages to stop himself from stumbling.

“Very well agents.” The Director crosses his arms behind his back and starts pacing. “The data you’ve recovered has pinpointed the location of a very important target for Project Freelancer. Excellent work.”

“Thank you, sir.” North echos with his two teammates, watching the Director with anticipation.

“Counselor, please update the board.” He has to keep himself from visibly wincing when the only change is his name switching with South’s. North watches her do a doubletake from the corner of his eye as he fires a longing glance at the door. He contemplates making a break for it before South reacts, demanding his full attention. He watches helplessly as she rips off her helmet to confront the Director, ignoring his dismissal as her anger radiating outwards. This is going to be a mess.

“I thought you said the mission was a success sir.” She sneers, voice bordering on contempt as she settles her helmet on her hip. North chooses to ignore the Director’s response, instead focusing on his sister’s body language in an attempt to gauge how much it’s going to cost him to fix this. He watches as she straightens up, distancing herself from the Director even as she shows defiance. South’s always been headstrong and proud and unfiltered; not some of the best traits for a soldier.

“Dismissed.” The disdain the Director feeds into that final word has her shoulders hunching up defensively for a moment, before relaxing back into anger. She stalks towards the door stiffly, ignoring the rest of the room’s inhabitants, including him.

“Do you think I should talk to her?” Carolina asks, mild concern lacing her words. He can feel her gaze focusing on him as he watches South punch the electric door panel. As the door slides open he catches a glimpse of grey and yellow armour. Suddenly his day might not be so bad; grey and yellow means Wash is back.

He can still feel Carolina's gaze on him so he turns his head to look at her, giving her the obvious answer. “Maybe we give her a minute.”

* * *

The trek back to his room feels impossibly long. North had briefly considered either waiting for Wash or seeking out York, but in the end the exhaustion he still felt down to his bones and the drowsiness of the painkillers combined, sending him stumbling towards the promise of a good nap. By the time he punches in the code to his door, he’s barely able to keep himself upright. Once inside the room, he briefly considers collapsing onto his bed and sleeping in his armour before deciding against it. Power armour isn’t the most comfortable thing to sleep in and the only two people he’s ever met that can comfortably pull it off are Wash and Maine. He suspects the latter pulls it off through sheer force of will, while Wash can sleep pretty much anywhere as long as his back is up against something. They haven’t discussed it yet, but North suspects it stems from another childhood trauma. It does help with sleeping arrangements however, as Wash rarely demands the middle.

He contemplates this as he strips off his armour, neatly stacking it at the foot of the bed. Peeling off the Kevlar coated neoprene undersuit proves to be more difficult and he struggles with it for a few minutes before he can get the stupid thing unstuck from his legs. He drapes it over the pile of armour before carefully flopping onto the bed. Staring at the pill bottle on his bedside, North briefly considers not taking them before a twinge on his right side informs him of how ridiculous that decision is. He shakes out two, using one of the bottles of water left there by York earlier to wash the pills down. Sinking back down into the mattress, North is suddenly extremely grateful that medical won’t let him train for another day or two. He’s pretty sure that all of the messes from today will take some time and energy to clean up. The last thing that he thinks about as his eyes slip closed and he falls into sleep is that at least he has Wash to help him on the York front.

* * *

When he wakes again, North is surprised to find that it’s 12:50 and he’s still alone. He knew that his hopes of York coming to find him were farfetched but he had expected Wash to show up over lunch. The younger man always visits them after missions to confirm that everyone is alright, so the fact that he hasn’t swung by is slightly worrisome. Especially after a meeting with internals. He contemplates the pros and cons of staying in bed and waiting it out for a while before dragging himself upright. The armour goes back on easier than it did earlier but it still takes him longer than usual. When he finally has the last piece properly fastened, he sets out to find Wash.

North starts by checking the mess hall. Mostly because it’s around lunch time, but also because his stomach is alerting him that food is a necessary thing if he wants to continue living. The mess is mostly empty; only Connie and a few standard crew members are eating at this time. One look at the shortest Freelancer informs North that he probably wants to stay away from her unless he wants to add another conflict to the day. Scooping up a sandwich and what passes as coleslaw on the MoI, he plunks himself down far enough away from Connie to give her the distance she seems to demand, while at the same time being close enough that she could start up a conversation of moderate volume if she wanted to talk to him.

North gets through most of his sandwich before Connie breaks the silence. She sounds slightly nervous. “Have you talked to Wash?”

“Not since he got back, no. Why? Is he OK?” Despite his questions, North isn’t overly worried about Wash. The fact that he saw him earlier enforces the fact that the man is obviously not seriously injured. He voices this much to Connie. “Never mind that actually. I saw him moving about this morning so I’m sure he’s fine. The real question is have you seen South yet?”  
“Yeah. She threw some stuff, trashed her room and then left for training. Are you two fighting again? South only gets like this when you’re fighting.” Connie stares him down menacingly. It’s almost amusing how someone as tiny as Connie can be so freaking scary at times. Whatever she reads in North’s reaction makes her back off, however.

“Nah, we’re not fighting. Not really. It was a bit of a rough mission. We completed the objective but things got a little unpleasant at the end and the Director is punishing her for it.” A look of unadulterated disgust flits across Connie’s face at the mention of the Director. North stows that knowledge away for another time, focusing on the rest of her body language. She shifts uncomfortably for a few minutes as they finish up their lunches.

“Wash and I got into an argument. Because he got shot.” She says it so casually that North has to wait for a second time to be sure. Connie raises an eyebrow at him before repeating it quietly to him, guilt evident. “The intel was bad and he got shot.”

“OK. So Wash got shot.” North is trying to keep his panic down. He saw Wash this morning. Wash is fine. He’s got to be fine. “And you fought about that?”

Connie winces at the coldness that seeps from North’s voice. His teammates are well aware of how protective he can be and they’re all a little protective of Wash at times. He’s their rookie, after all. However, it only takes her a minute to regain her composure. She explains with an annoyed sigh. “The idiot refused to go to medical. He didn’t think having a bullet imbedded in his ribs was a big deal. He got **shot** and he acted like it was nothing North.”

“Shit.” North swallows hard. Wash has always demonstrated a high pain tolerance but this is a little much. “Shit. OK. I’ll talk to him. Fuck Connie, what happened?”

He catches another flash of guilt cross her face. “The intel was wrong and we got separated. It was my fault he got shot. I fucked up.”

“Hey. It’s OK, I’m sure that’s not true Connie. Crappy intel isn’t your fault.” The genuine remorse in her voice has North reassuring her.

The younger agent bristles at his attempt, face closing off. “I don’t need your comfort, North. And don’t call me Connie anymore. It’s CT now.”

North knows the end of a conversation when he sees it. Offering her a semi-apologetic shrug, he removes himself from the mess hall, depositing his tray as he goes. If what Connie says is true then Wash won’t be seeking him out any time soon. The youngest Freelancer always turns into a recluse when something is bothering him. Trust issues are hard to get over, and while it bothers York, North gets it. Their lover is still getting used to the idea that people have his back. So when he disagrees with one of the few people he trusts, Wash withdraws instead of confronting the issue. They’ve been working on it though, and he’s getting better.

This understanding sets North on a path towards Wash’s room. Just because the rookie wants to avoid him doesn’t mean he has to go along with that plan. The sniper isn’t going to let his young lover pout just because he got into a disagreement with a friend over the proper treatment of wounds. In fact, as soon as North tracks him down, he’s going to inform Wash exactly what the procedure following a gunshot wound actually is. After he kisses his breath away, of course. North needs to show the man just how much he’ll miss if he doesn’t take proper care of himself.

Something feels off with his glove as he approaches the corridor to the bunks, so North pauses to fix it. He’s so focused on figuring out exactly what is wrong with the stupid thing that he almost misses the grey and yellow clad Freelancer stroll casually by him. Wash’s boot gives him away though, and before the younger man can evade him, North is reaching out. He just barely misses catching his lover’s shoulder, hand falling awkwardly short before he pulls it back in. “Hey Wash, wait up.”

Wash barely even slows his pace, keeping his gaze averted. North follows his lead for the time being; too many prying eyes to do anything where they are. Instead he focuses on engaging his lover in conversation, hoping that it will make him more comfortable. “Listen, I heard you had a meeting with internals.”

“Oh?” Wash doesn’t sound surprised or particularly willing to engage. “You did?”

North winces at the indifference in his voice. The fight with Connie does not fully explain the way that Wash is acting. Despite that, he continues his attempt to catch the other agent’s attention. “Yeah, do you mind if I ask what it was about?” North throws the question at him hopefully. Wash is all about regulations, so maybe he’ll offer up another one of his lectures. As annoying as they can be, at least it would get him to engage.

“Mm, not really supposed to talk about that.” He drawls, sounding bored.

“Help me out here.” North directs the plea to both his own brain and Wash. He pauses, turning away from Wash in embarrassment when his partner tenses. “I’m still getting heat about using equipment in the field.”

“You did? Really?” Wash stops, spinning to look at him. North can hear the fear and worry tainting his lover’s voice. The shorter soldier retraces his steps until he’s standing in front of North. “Without a pipeline back to the command server?”

“I had to improvise.” North lets his voice take on a devil-may-care note that is more suitable for York than himself. Wash studies him carefully. “We had a problem.”

“Let me guess.” The worry is slightly overshadowed by scorn. North studies his reflection in the visor of Wash’s helmet as the grey clad Freelancer tips his head judgmentally. “Are you related to the problem?”

“OK, now I don’t want to talk about it.” North allows himself to let out a semi-relieved chuckle as he moves down the hall passed Wash. It may have been a slightly unpleasant conversation but at least he forced his lover into a discussion. A smile spreads across his face when he hears Wash follow him.

“Equipment in the field.” Wash still sounds a little shaken. “Now don’t forget what happened to Utah in training. You’re lucky it didn’t kill you.”

“If I was lucky, I wouldn’t have needed to use it at all.” The chuckle is still in his voice and from the way that Wash’s head tilts towards him, North can tell it doesn’t go unnoticed. Instead of commenting, however, he pushes on with the conversation.

“Well you can relax. Internals didn’t ask about you. It was about something else.” Wash starts sounding distracted as some soldiers brush passed them in a hurry. “Lots of questions about the insurrection and transmissions coming out of our…”

A soldier runs into him, cutting off his already trailing explanation. “Sorry sir.”

“Hey, what’s going on?” Wash shakes it off, staring at the man that ran into him as he demands answers. “Soldier where is everybody running?”

“New agent squaring off against Maine, Wyoming, and York on the training room floor. We’re going to watch.” The excitement is audible in the crew member’s voice as he rushes away. “Hey guys, wait up.”

“Three on one?” North can hear the incredulity in his own voice.

Wash laughs, gesturing after the soldiers. “I gotta see this.”

“Yeah, right behind you.” He agrees with a nod of his head, following the shorter man into the observation bay for the training room. Wash stops beside South so North is careful to stay on the opposite side of him. He surveys the room, taking note of the fact that all of the Alpha team members not participating in the training session are in the room watching. Carolina seems confused.

North watches with a wince as the three agents he knows get taken down by a single sweep of the pugil stick. He focuses on how York tumbles backwards awkwardly, blocking out the chatter between his present teammates. Wash makes some comment that his sister, already on edge, takes offense to. He can’t help shaking his head with a grin as his younger lover lets her needle him into a stuttering defense. The more he tries to defend himself, the bigger the hole he’s digging gets and North brings his hand up to cover his chuckle before remembering that he is still wearing his helmet.

Wash falls silent when Carolina cuts in, and North goes back to focusing completely on the massacre below. The new agent easily beats down her three opponents, thwacking York across the head and giving him a few body shots. Maine is the last to go down, staggering upright briefly before dropping again. F.L.I.S.S. awards a point to Texas, causing another round of commentary from Wash and Carolina. North saves his judgement until he can see more. York is ranked the highest out of his teammates for this battle, and he’s always been pretty terrible with the batons.

The intensity ramps up when the hand-to-hand round starts. North’s anticipation grows; York’s a CQC expert. He watches as his lover drops into his familiar stance, attempting to pass on orders to Wyoming and Maine. Neither of them listen, rushing head first into the fight and getting knocked backwards. York turns to berate them and gets a fist to the solar plexus for the effort. In the moment that Texas lifts Maine over her head and tosses him across the floor, North has a flash of fear. It’s quickly followed up by a feeling of awe as he watches her take apart York with a couple of well placed blows.

“Whoa, OK.” The amazement is apparent in his voice as North turns to trade looks with his sister and Wash. “That was pretty impressive.”

Even from their view up top, it’s apparent that York is attempting to organize their strikes again. Wyoming and Maine trade glances behind his back and rush back into the fight. North can tell that he’s exasperated from the set of his shoulders. Using their rush as a decoy, the tan armoured Freelancer moves in, landing a few hits on his black clad opponent.

Watching York spar has always been one of North’s favourite things. The way his lover always manages to adapt his stance so that he’s facing his opponent head on, regardless of their fighting style is mesmerizing. Watching him fight Agent Texas is a completely different experience. His hands are balled so tightly into fists that North is sure he’d leave marks if not for the gloves. Even after York’s two partners fall into the rhythm of the fight, it’s obvious that they don’t stand a chance. York gets a few good hits in, trading a volley of blows, before he goes down from a hay-maker to the side. Texas makes short work of Maine and Wyoming afterwards, attention drifting back to York just in time for him to attempt regaining his feet. North recoils as York gets kicked in the head. Wash tenses up beside him as the round ends and the point is awarded.

He’s still reeling from that final kick, head swimming with worry for York, when the paint round is announced. Wash starts up a conversation about hating the paint. North assumes it’s probably to distract himself from his fear for York. The match was getting pretty rough for a training round. Usually they leave headshots out of sparring; no point in concussing your teammates. North offers up a generic comment on the paint as he watches the pillars rise. On a positive note, this round will probably be less violent. Paint rounds rarely go into CQC and the only way you could really be injured is if your oxygen levels dropped too low after being shot in the air intake filter.

That thought lasts a couple rounds before York gets ambushed by Texas up close and she kicks him in the groin hard. North frowns as Wash mutters quietly to him. “Great, now he’s going to complain about sore balls until one of us rubs them for him. You know that, right?”

He groans in response, dropping his voice to a whisper. “I think he’s going to want a massage from you and your magic fingers too.”

“I guess I’ll clear my schedule for tonight then.” The answer is light and teasing in Wash’s regular way. Apparently watching York train was exactly the type of thing he needed to take his mind off of everything.

“Mhm, sounds good.” North hums in agreement, attention getting captured by York as he throws himself back into Texas’s space, throwing a few punches as he does. There is a moment in which North is almost positive York has her, until suddenly he’s watching his boyfriend get shot repeatedly in the crotch with lockdown paint. Wash whimpers in wordless sympathy.

Sometime between the 5th and 7th round Connie shows up. She leans against the window beside Wash and he immediately tenses up. He doesn’t show any signs of relaxing despite the fact she stays silent until round 9 starts and suddenly there is live fire. North stares through the window in disbelief as bullets whiz through the air from Maine and Wyoming. He can’t focus on anything else, not even when Wash sputters something about regulations, fear leaking into his words. He does catch Connie’s response and considers snapping at her for being insensitive but Carolina jumps in with a warning.

The round moves quickly and North watches in horror, unable to do anything, as York makes the decision to start helping Texas. Suddenly those bullets aren’t just flying around him. No, instead the idiot has decided to make bullets fly at him. This is not going to end well. Sure enough, it doesn’t take more than another minute before Maine sends a pillar flying into York, sending him sprawled out on the ground. Texas kicks the crap out of him, knocking him back. But not before he releases a grenade. One that rolls up next to York and detonates.

North is flying down the steps to get into the training room immediately after it explodes. He arrives on the floor just before the medical staff does but Carolina pushes passed him. Wash arrives at York’s side at almost the same time he does. North can’t even register any of the words going on until Wash’s voice rings out, grounding him. He shuffles closer to that source of comfort. “Lockdown hardens the armour. She probably saved his life.”

“Quick thinking.” North adds, forcing himself not to reach out and hold Wash.

“Yeah.” Carolina agrees, glancing over at Texas. “Really quick.”

The Director enters, ordering them to stand down. North immediately snaps to attention, Carolina falling in line between him and Wash.

“You should be ashamed of yourselves. I expect you to act as a team.” The Director dresses them down, pacing in front of them. Wash speaks up, citing the rules as usual, only to have the Director’s fury focused completely on him. Wash backs up in alarm as the Director gets into his face. “Do you think our enemies will care about regulations on the battlefield, Agent Washington?”

“So…” Wash sounds completely baffled and horrified as he stutters out a response. “Y-you're not punishing them?”

He sounds so lost that North just wants to say fuck it and go to him. Instead he trades a look with Carolina. He has to avoid looking at York because he’s afraid he might deck the Director and that would be a mistake. Instead he starts a slow and even countdown from 20, focusing on a single point of the room. By the time he’s reached 15 the Director has left and the conversation has died. Wash is watching him worriedly. Movement catches his attention as the medics lift York and carry him from the room. Carolina stops him when he moves to follow.

“I’ll take the first watch.” She stares pointedly at Wash, who has started shaking now. “You have something else to take care of right now. I’ll let you know when it’s your turn.”

North hesitates for a moment until Wash lets out barely audible sob. “OK. But if he wakes up you call me immediately. Come on Wash, let’s get out of here.”

North guides his lover back to the sleeping quarters, punching in the door key and ushering Wash in. The younger man seems shocked and remains unresponsive when North begins to strip off his armour. He only starts acting when North gives him an order. It still takes ten minutes longer than it usually does to get them both undressed. The two of them crawl into North’s bed. As soon as Wash is settled into North’s chest he starts to bawl. The taller of two holds him close long after his young lover cries himself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys. I'm having trouble finding words these days, so new chapters might get posted on a less... scheduled basis. But I'll try not to let it go longer than two weeks between updates.
> 
> In other news. I have tumblr and I'm learning how to use it... so feel free to drop by and say hi. I'm thejokeristhethief over there as well.


	10. Guilt Trips and Pity Parties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> York wakes up in an unfamiliar place and the guys have to deal with the aftermath of the ill-fated grenade incident. Wash feels angry and guilty. North is distraught. And York just wants to know what the fuck is going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In other news, I've been terribly busy with a new job that keeps me working between 10 and 12 hours a day, so I apologize for the length between updates... I am working on Chapter 11 as I post this, which is a Wash chapter. And also going to be heavily smut oriented. Which leads me to my next request/announcement:
> 
> I am encouraging people to drop me some smut prompts because I am terrible at coming up with my own starting points. Is there anything you'd like to read? Let me know in the comments or drop by my tumblr ask box if you'd prefer to do it anonymously and I'll do my best to fulfill as many suggestions as I can. Who knows, you may inspire me to write an entirely different story as well.
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thejokeristhethief

York wakes up in an unfamiliar place, head swathed in bandages, vision blurry and unfocused. He proceeds to freak the fuck out. In his experience, the only thing worse than waking up in an unknown location is not being able to remember how you got there. And he realizes, with rising panic, that he does not remember a goddamn thing. Taking a deep breath, he gathers all the information he can about the situation.  

The first thing he notices when he calms down enough to focus is that the room is impossibly bright. The walls are whitewashed, the sheets are the colour of untainted snow… hell, even the ceiling is white. While this observation does not tell him where he is, it does provide him with the knowledge of where he is not; mainly the Mother of Invention. The MoI is grey and dull, even in the medbay. In fact the only areas that have any sort of colour are those with holo-screens or personal effects. Even the walls of the living quarters are the brushed steel and titanium of the hull, void of any decoration bar any photos or memorabilia the Agents choose to display. Even that is rare, as most of them tend to keep their decorations to their lockers. So, white walls means no MoI which means either civilian or UNSC. Which also suggests no North or Wash or Carolina, and therefore no backup. If only he could remember why he was here, it would definitely make escaping easier.

Speaking of here, the next thing York notices, on further examination of the room, is the medical equipment he’s hooked up to. Medical equipment suggests a hospital ship or a medical station of some kind. That definitely explains the white. And the bandages. However, it does not explain the fact that he is alone. Or the reason why he requires bandages in the first place. Nor does it inform him of the reason why he is here instead of in the MoI medbay. Forcing himself into sitting position, York looks for a door. When he can’t find one it becomes obvious that he’s in one of those high tech privacy rooms where the windows can be whited out so that nobody can see in or out. He can only hope that the settings are set so that nobody can see in either, although given the situation, he doubts that very much.

When his initial examination of the room is complete, York goes over the details again, and then once more for good measure. Once he’s sure he has a good estimation of what the room is like, from the size of it down to the last tile on the floor, he carefully shifts so that his feet are hanging over the bed on the side that the IV is at. A quick once over has him flicking off the pulse and brain wave receivers, allowing him to remove the transmitters attached to his head and finger without alerting anyone. Next, he lowers his feet to the floor slowly, pushing off the bed. He reaches out to grab the IV stand, frowning when he misses. He tries again before realizing that his depth perception is completely off. Cursing, he moves his hand slower, inching forward until his fingers brush it. Closing his left hand around the metal pole, he tugs it forward as he does a lap around the room, right hand brushing the wall in search of any abnormalities or cracks. The first two walls reveal nothing, and he gets more than half way across the third wall before he finds what he’s looking for.

The access panel may be projecting a hologram to hide itself, but York knows all the tricks in the book. He contemplates the room, searching his mind for anything he could use as a tool to open the stupid pad so he can hack his way out of this awful room and work on getting home. When he comes up blank, he starts over again, his uncovered eye sweeping the room for anything useful. He is about to give up and reassess his options when his gaze land on the IV stand. This is probably going to suck, but the little needle stuck in his arm is the closest thing he’s going to get to a screwdriver or his lockpicks. Bracing himself, he peels off the tape holding it there and tugs the line firmly out of his arm. A pinprick of blood wells up in the spot the needle once was, but York barely notices. Instead he slides the needle up between the keypad and the electronic base, wiggling it until it’s wedged in tight. Wrapping his left hand around the the top of the device, he finds the lip of the keypad and grips it tightly before working the needle around the edge, tugging until it the whole thing pops off. The walls may be high tech in this place, but the security is shit.

Once the keypad is disconnected from the base, the hologram hiding it fades out, allowing York to see what he’s up against. He’s almost disappointed at the standard security pad that melts into existence before him. It only takes him a quick glance at the rainbow of wires before he identifies the three that need to be pulled. It takes him a couple tries to hook his fingers through the blue, orange, and black wires but when he finally gets there it only takes a sharp tug before the panel is shorting out, releasing the door and returning the windows back to their transparent state.

York curses. He was hoping that the windows would stay opaque on the off chance that they could provide him with more cover. Now he’ll have to move fast or risk being discovered. Luckily, the hallway is devoid of any life. Slinking down the corridor stealthily takes more effort than it used to. He hasn’t quite adjusted to only using one eye and right now isn’t the time to be examining what sort of injuries are under the bandage. Whatever medication they have pumped into him has been keeping the pain at bay, but hopefully whatever is under there won’t leave lasting damage. Really though, he can’t afford to be worrying about that at the moment.

The hallway ends in what appears to be a waiting room of sorts. He can see the top of a blonde head poking over the top of a couch facing away from him and someone else’s feet resting on the armrest of the same piece of furniture. York hesitates for a brief moment, before casually crossing the empty space to the next passageway. He’s just about to disappear down it when a hand clamps down on his arm tightly. Swinging himself into action immediately, York pivots, sweeping his foot out in a low kick aimed to take out his assaulter’s legs. He follows up with a quick jab to his unknown assailants chest, wrenching his arm free and sinking into a defensive stance. The cry of shock and pain registers belatedly in his mind, unsettlingly familiar.

“Ow man, what the fuck?” Wash looks up at him from where he’s now situated on his ass on the floor. There is a snicker from the lounge area and York glances over in complete bafflement, only to meet almost twin stares, one filled with amusement and the other filled with worry and regret. Wash huffs from the floor, glaring over his shoulder at South. He snarls at her briefly before turning his unamused look back to York. “Shut it bitch. York, what are you doing out of bed? How the fuck did you even get out here?”

“Wash, calm down.” There is some shuffling before North approaches them, offering his hand to their younger lover to help him off the floor. “I’m sure York has a perfectly good reason for being out of bed. Probably something to do with waking up in that room alone without knowing what is going on.”

“Yeah well, that wouldn’t have happened if someone hadn’t pulled some stupid bullshit while playing around with the equipment and gotten us banished to the waiting room.” Wash brushes the offered hand away, pushing himself to his feet. North sighs, letting his hand fall back to his side. York glances between them with confusion; the shorter blonde rarely refuses North’s need to help. They have an understanding between them, so if Wash is denying him that then something must be very wrong. Furthermore, the defensive posture that he adopts with his left arm stretching across his body to grip his right elbow, screams bad news. York reaches out to both of them instantly. He’s put way too much work into keeping them together to let the two of them fall apart.

Wash stiffens when York locks a hand around his wrist to tug him closer but allows the brunette to reel him in. He even contributes to the embrace by locking his arms tightly around the injured man’s waist. Neither of them fully relax into the hug until North’s arms snake around them tentatively trapping Wash in the middle so he can’t escape. The shortest man struggles for a moment before giving in, burying his face into York’s shoulder as he starts to tremble. North hushes him, pressing closer. “It’s OK love. He’s safe. He’s alive. He’s right here in our arms, and he is going to be perfectly fine.”

Realization dawns on York; Wash’s tension is stemming from the intense worry he’s feeling. If only he could remember why his lovers are so worried then he might be able to comfort them. Instead, all he can do is grip the sides of North’s t-shirt and keep him close. They stay like that for awhile, huddle together like penguins seeking the warmth and comfort of each other’s presence. York keeps his hands tangled in North’s shirt until Wash stops trembling and his breathing returns to normal. Once the younger man has stopped hyperventilating, he allows himself to loosen his hold on the tallest man’s shirt and pull away slightly to reassess the state of his lovers.

The first thing York notices are the dark circles under Wash’s eyes and the worried lines that trace across North’s forehead. The next thing he notices is that the taller of the blondes is standing straighter than he should be able to considering the injuries York remembers him having. There is also the fact that there was a distinct lack of bandages to be felt under the fabric of his t-shirt. His stomach flips uncomfortably when he registers that fact that it’d take at least a week for North to get the OK to remove those. Just how long has he been here?

A snort from behind North reminds the three of them that they are not alone in the waiting room. He pulls his gaze away from the two men in front of him, zoning in on the blonde woman now leaning over the back of the couch. “When you pathetically lovesick idiots get tired of canoodling like school girls and grow some balls, we should probably return the one-eyed bandit to his room so the doctors can figure out if he’s fixable.”

He can feel Wash tense in his arms, the shorter man readying himself to whorl around and confront her. Surprisingly, North beats him to it, head snapping around as he glares at his twin. His voice is low in warning as he growls at her. “South. Shut up. And don’t call him that anymore. It wasn’t funny the first time, it isn’t funny now, and it certainly won’t be funny the next time.”

York is sure the shock on her face is probably mirrored on his own. North rarely expresses any sort of frustration or anger towards anyone, especially not South. He’s explained numerous times that responding to her with aggression is most likely going to beget more snark and hostility. So watching North growl at his twin just adds to York’s suspicions about the situation surrounding his injuries is more than slightly serious. South stiffens, opening her mouth to retort, only to be forestalled by a grumbled, almost incoherent threat from Wash.

“I swear against whatever it is you believe in, if you open your mouth and something unpleasant comes out I will find a new permanent home for your teeth.” Despite the poorly worded statement, the tone the youngest Freelancer uses holds a ring of promise in it. South huffs, momentarily shocked, before snapping her mouth closed in favour of glaring at them. York watches on in complete bafflement as the blonde woman visibly struggles to check her snark under her brother’s insistent stare. He relaxes when she allows the argument go unfinished, watching as she flings herself back on the couch with a sigh that rings less angry that he’d expect. Some of the tension melts from North’s shoulders; something York considers a small victory. Wash, on the other hand, continues to hold himself like an antique watch wound so tightly that another click might break him. His voice drops to a level more appropriate for a hospital. “As terrible as she worded it, South is right. You do need to get looked over by a doctor.”

“Of course I’m right.” South’s voice drifts over the couch. All three men ignore her comment, the two blondes each grabbing one of York’s hands to guide him towards the holo-sided recovery room he woke up in. York notes that Wash's hand is clammy in a way it only gets when he's nervous about something. North's grip is also tighter than usual, and both those factors,when added to everything else he's noticed, leave him with a feeling that he's not going to be happy with what is going on here. York inhales slowly, taking a deep and calming breath before carefully inquiring about the obvious issue.

"Sooo. What the hell is going on?" His attempt to remain nonchalant fails miserably. "What did South mean by one-eyed bandit?"

Wash’s focus drops to the floor and North meets his gaze, eyes ridden with guilt. When the tallest of the trio opens his mouth to explain, he receives a fierce glare from their lover. York recoils in shock at the anger contained in Wash’s look; the emotion seems foreign compared to the warmth his brown eyes usually harbour. In contrast, North takes the fury calmly, a brief flash of distress reflecting in his blue eyes, mixing with the guilt before he shrugs, mouth closing in response to Wash’s unspoken demand. York can feel the taste of panic coat his mouth as he watches his two lovers interact. The amount of tension and Wash’s refusal to let North offer any of his customary comfort leaves him feeling completely off balance. The only explanation he can think of is that North is somehow responsible for his injuries. But he is certain that he hasn’t been on any missions with North recently, and Wash has enough experience to know that things that happen on missions can’t be blamed on the other participants unless they specifically shoot their teammates or something equally stupid. Which suggests that whatever happened to him was not mission related, something York finds even more baffling. He’s always been one hundred percent certain that North would never put him in a position to be physically hurt. His lover is far too protective of anyone he cares about to let them get injured. The only other possibility that York can think of is that Wash blames North for the situation leading up to whatever event he participated in to land him in this place.

When it becomes obvious that neither of his companions are going to speak up, York uses his left elbow to nudge Wash in the ribs, a sharp attempt at prodding the younger man into speaking. The reaction is alarming, and York watches in horror Wash doubles over clutching his right side and gasping in pain. North is immediately sinking to his knees in front of them, hands peeling away the pair of freckled ones covering the area York’s elbow impacted before unceremoniously shoving up the other man’s grey shirt to reveal a small square bandage. A bandage that is slowly turning red.

“Dammit. Your stitches are torn again. At this rate it’s never going to heal.” North lets out a frustrated sigh, peeling up the gauze to take stock of the damage. Wash shifts and York can tell he’s tempted to brush their lover’s hands away but once he notices the worried frown on the other blonde’s face he releases some of his tension, letting his hand cup North’s cheek instead. The brunette watches his two lovers share a moment, Wash using the placement of his hand to force North’s eyes up to meet his gaze.

“It’s OK, hun. I’ll survive a few pulled stitches, I promise. We have more pressing injuries to see to.” Both men turn their focus to him briefly, and York offers them a weak and slightly confused smile. North pushes himself to his feet as Wash takes a few deep breaths before attempting to continue. “Obviously there are a few things we should tell you, York. You were in a training… umm.. a training accident.”

The trembling in his voice doesn’t allow Wash to get passed that first statement. York reaches over to tug his young lover into an embrace, holding him tightly as he starts to tremble again. Smoothing his hands up and down Wash’s back, York trades a look with North, prompting the other man to continue with the story as he soothes the distressed man currently clinging to him. Instead of enclosing both of them in his larger embrace, the taller man keeps himself removed from them as he offers his own explanation of the events that York can’t remember.

“After we had our argument, you volunteered for a three-on-one training exercise against Agent Texas. You were partnered with Maine and Wyoming. There was an incident involving your teammates using live ammunition against Texas. Something you obviously would not agree to, and as such switched teams in an attempt to help her. This resulted in your face catching the worst of a poorly aimed grenade thrown by Maine.” Wash whimpers at that piece of information, pushing further against York. Obviously the younger man is having a hard time dealing with the fact that one of his best friends is the reason for his lover’s extensive injuries. He can understand how disconcerting that must be. North shifts closer, tentatively placing his hand in Wash’s blonde hair, stroking his head in one of his typical soothing gestures. Before continuing on with the string of events, he offers York a soft look, voice dropping to just above a whisper. “He’s been really worried and upset about everything that has happened. Shit, York… We weren’t sure if you were going to make it. After the grenade blew up in your face they rushed you to this place. It’s a civilian medical station, one that the Director apparently has emergency access to, called Angel On My Shoulder. You’ve been here for a little over a week. Now that you’re awake, the doctors can assess the amount of damage your eye took.”

York takes the news silently, letting it sink in as Wash murmurs apologies against his neck. The freckles on his cheeks stand out against the wetness that hasn’t been absorbed by the brunette’s t-shirt as the other man pulls away after regaining his composure. The painkillers and adrenaline have started to wear off and the dull ache he associates with partially healed wounds is starting to set in. Taking a moment, he focuses his attention on fishing out any hazy memories he has of the last week. Snippets of the training match against Texas pop up as he combs his mind, along with the feeling of hands on his face as he fades in and out of consciousness, and Carolina’s voice ordering people around. A fuzzy memory of overhearing a shaky conversation between his lovers pops up, Wash’s voice uncharacteristically accusing as he confronts North about the way he denied letting York fuss over him. He distinctly remembers the younger man’s voice wavering as he reminded their lover that any sort of rejection drives him towards recklessness, insinuating that it was North’s fault that he volunteered for the match that got him injured. The unmasked fury and sorrow in Wash’s voice is ingrained deep in the memory, along with North’s defeated and guilty tone when he responds, accepting the blame.

The memory of overhearing his lovers fighting brings back the memory of their own argument. Specifically North stating, in a very clear and harsh way, that he doesn’t need York. His heart twists, causing him to flinch away from North as the man shakes him out of the daze he was in. North stares back at him in confusion as York stumbles backwards, glaring at his lover accusingly. When North reaches for him again, he bats the man’s extended arms out of the way, words tumbling out of his mouth before he can think to filter them. The anger he felt after their fight returns tenfold as he relives the memory. “This is your fault, you know that right? If you hadn’t pushed me away and instead let me take care of you, I wouldn’t have had time to volunteer for that stupid fight. If you could just get over yourself for ten minutes and realize that other people have feelings and are allowed to care then I wouldn’t have left you for so long. I didn’t even have training that afternoon. We could have been cuddling instead!”

There is a sharp intake of breath from North before the blonde man’s face crumbles into pure misery. Before North can open his mouth to respond or defend himself, Wash is collecting York into a hug, clicking his tongue in disapproval. The shorter blonde refuses to let him go even though he’s struggling, still vibrating with the memory of hurt and rage. The younger man speaks with a tone that stresses objection against his accusation. “York, stop it. You know this isn’t North’s fault. He was in pain and he said stupid shit, something that isn’t easily forgiven. But you probably would have volunteered anyway, and we all know it. Besides, North is already beating himself up enough. There is no reason for you to be angry with him. He’s already apologized like a million times. He even traded brownie rights for the next three weeks to get us guard duty for today and tomorrow because the doctors were sure you’d be awake soon. He gave up brownies, York!”

The seriousness that Wash says that with startles a laugh out of York, and he allows himself to relax. North still looks pale and distraught, hands clearly shaking visibly despite the fact he is standing on the far side of the hallway, allowing York some space. North has the steadiest hands York has ever seen; even Wash’s hands shake more often. So for them to be shaking so bad, the man must be more upset than his face expresses. York can feel his anger fading as he observes his lover. How can he stay mad at someone who is so obviously full of remorse? Reaching out a hand, he beckons North forward to join in their embrace.

North approaches them cautiously before tentatively wrapping his arms loosely around both of them, joining their embrace from the side. York snorts, slipping his arm around the taller man’s waist and tugging him in closer. Wash follows his lead, further tightening the hug until their cuddled tightly together. York starts when North takes the opportunity to kiss his temple before whispering in his ear. “I’m so, so sorry, York. No matter how much pain I was in, I should never have said that to you. But I want you to know that, despite what I say when I am hurting, or angry, or grumpy, I will always need you. Always. I love you so very much.”

The words leave a warm feeling in York’s stomach as he twists his head to place a soft kiss on North’s lips. It quickly turns heated as he pours out all his lingering anger and frustration. He releases his grip on Wash so he can slide a hand into North’s hair and tug him down for easier access. His taller lover responds with equal energy, one hand sliding down to grip his ass as the other slides up his neck before cupping his cheek possessively. Their tongues battle for dominance before North licks passed his lips, confidently exploring the familiar territory of his mouth. York whimpers, hand sliding down from his partner’s hair to grip the front of his shirt desperately. North pulls him in closer, so that their bodies are almost flush, before walking him backwards to pin him against the wall. Strong fingers knead into his ass, extracting a soft moan at the same time the fingers on the hand cupping his face move up to trace the shell of his ear and tug gently on the lobe before sliding higher to card through his hair. In that moment nothing exists but those lips and hands and the man they belong to. The kiss feels like it lasts for both a lifetime and an instant, leaving him whining at the loss of contact when North breaks away. York’s lips feel bruised and the left side of his face is aching something awful, but the bliss he always feels after kissing North lingers, leaving him dazed and with a niggling sensation in the back of his mind that something is missing. His lover’s huge hands have slid to rest on his hips as he smiles down at York with satisfaction.

As he comes down from the high that the lack of oxygen causes, his surroundings to come back to him and his gaze lands on one unimpressed looking Washington. The younger man is leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed. He meets York’s stare with a raised eyebrow and questioning look; one that screams ‘are you done yet?’ He can feel a blush rising to his cheeks under the scrutiny of those eyes but refuses to look away, even as North shifts away from him. The other man lets out a quiet curse, dropping his grip on York’s hips and turning towards Wash. He offers a quiet apology on behalf of both of them, something York is intensely grateful for as he can’t find his words just then. “Sorry, love. We got a little caught up in… well, making up I guess?”

Wash snorts, keeping his face carefully blank as he shifts his head to meet North’s eyes. The tension is back and it’s making York decidedly uncomfortable, so he pulls himself away from the wall, intent on evening the score and erasing whatever displacement their younger lover is feeling. Before he can get close enough to touch Wash, however, the freckled blonde is pushing away from the wall with practiced ease and a fluidity that York could almost call graceful. He gapes briefly, before pulling himself together and reaching out to catch hold the of the other man’s arm. His damn depth perception chooses that moment to fuck him over again and he snatches at air instead. There is a humourless chuckle before a smaller hand slips into his, tugging him forward. “Come on, pretty boy. Stop trying to make out with everyone for five minutes so we can get you checked out and get out of this prison they call a hospital.”

York can sense North pausing behind him as he analyses Wash’s choice of words. Another curse falls from his lips as he strides forward to catch the smaller man’s shoulder, effectively halting him. His question comes out in a way that suggests North has solved a very large and complicated riddle. “Wash, are you afraid of hospitals?”

For the second time in a matter of minutes, York gapes. The idea of Wash being afraid of hospitals is laughable until he really thinks about it. The youngest Freelancer is accident prone for sure, but he’s also tough as nails and luckier than a Leprechaun, so it’s never been obvious that he actively avoids the medbay. But the harder he contemplates it, the more plausible it seems. And North is a little more observant than he is at times.

“No!” Wash sputters in response to North’s question, eyes going wide at the accusation. “No, I’m not afraid of them. I just don’t… like them. Medical facilities smell funny, like their trying to cover up the stench of death with the heavy scent of antiseptics and bleach. Gas station bathrooms are probably more sterile than most operating rooms. You’d be less comfortable in them if you watched a super strain of flesh eating bacteria or fucking dysentery sweep through a colony hospital, killing 90 percent of the patients and staff in a matter of days. Do you know what a couple hundred human corpses smell like when they burn? It isn’t pleasant.”

York shudders and all the colour drains from North’s face as he lets his hand fall shakily from Wash’s shoulder. The shorter man laughs, another dark and humourless sound that doesn’t help anyone relax in the slightest. He turns to catch their expressions before shrugging, latching his free hand around North’s wrist as well and dragging them both forward, down the hall towards the examination room that York woke up in. The rest of the short walk is spent in silence, each man focused on their own thoughts. The moment the room comes into view, Wash lets out a genuine laugh. The holo-panels that York originally disabled are now flashing between clear glass and the white privacy projection. The door to the room is still opened wide and it doesn’t appear that anyone has been by to check on him since he broke out. York offers his boyfriends a shrug and a lopsided grin as they enter the room. North lets out an exasperated sigh when he sees the damage York has done to the door panel.

“You don’t suppose you could break out without actually breaking things next time, do you?” There is a undertone of fondness in his voice as he expresses his irritation. “We’re probably going to have to pay for a new one of those now.”

“Next time don’t leave me to wake up alone and I won’t have to break out.” He snarks back with a cheeky grin that pulls at the his wounds, reminding him of the pain and making him wince. North notices immediately, reaching out to push him gently on the bed as Wash examines the door panel. Pulling out a small kit of tools, he tips them a wink before stripping the ends of the wires York pulled loose and reattaching them with something that looked suspiciously like part of his explosives kit. The windows immediately cease shorting out and the door slides closed. York lets out an impressed whistle as the rookie snaps the number pad back on. Wash presses the zero button with a dramatic flourish, informing the nurse that answers of York’s lucidity and requesting a doctor. It takes less than five minutes for a team of doctors and nurses to bustle in, shooing North and Wash out as they take over.

“Don’t worry, York. We’ll be right outside, so just yell if you need us OK?” North calls out over the head of the nurse that is firmly pushing him out the door. The walls remain white as the door seals behind his lovers, trapping him in the room with half a dozen medical personnel and their poking and prodding. The doctor carefully removes the bandages from around his face and eye, examining the stitches carefully before lifting off the extra gauze York can feel sitting over his left eye. He expects there to be some blurring or light sensitivity. Hell, even only being able to see shapes and shadows would be alright. At least he could work on improving that. Instead, he sees nothing. Or rather, his vision doesn’t change at all. He can still see everything he could see before, just not out of his left eye. The doctor makes a disappointed sound.

“It ish ash wee shushpected, Agent Yhork.” The man’s accent is thick. York has never been good a distinguishing accents, so the origin of the doctor’s is impossible for him to determine. Instead of dwelling on that idle fact, he forces himself to focus on the next set of words. “‘m afryd your vishhion in your left eye wunt be reteerning.”

Maybe it’s the accent that throws him off, or maybe he’s in complete denial over the whole situation, but whatever the reason, York finds the doctor’s words impossibly funny. He snorts with laughter and the absurdity of the situation. After all, there is no way he could possibly be blind in one eye. He’s a soldier, for fuck’s sake. And a locksmith. And a goddamn infiltrations specialist. There is no fucking way he can be blind in one eye. Who the fuck has ever heard of a one-eyed locksmith before? Jesus Christ this is the worst joke ever. Of all time, as Wash would say. A nurse pulls him from the spiral of panic he’s entered by placing a gentle hand on his back and rubbing it in perfectly symmetrical circles. He finds himself strangely comforted by the perfection of geometrical shapes. At least something in his world hasn’t been turned completely upside down. She continues to trace those circles in between his shoulder blades until his breathing returns to normal and he no longer feels like decking the doctor.

He listens as the doctor explains the options he has, the man’s cool, brown hands prod the stitches knitting the skin of his cheek together. They only get through a few options before the door opens and the Director of Project Freelancer himself strides in, the Counselor on his heels and Wash, North, and South trailing behind them awkwardly. The Director surveys the room sharply as the Counselor addresses York in his creepily soft voice. “Agent York. It is a relief and a pleasure to see you up and about. We apologize for the incident that has cost you the vision in your eye. Now that you are well enough to be moved, we have completed your discharge papers and will be taking you back to the Mother of Invention to complete your treatment. Thank you for taking exceptional care of our agent, Doctor Hamil. I trust his behaviour has been befitting for a soldier of his caliber.”

The doctor straightens, staring at the intruders in disbelief as the words register with him. “Thish man ish notah raddy tah leave ‘m afryd. He shtill hash tah be monieeteerd unteel his shtitchesh are wheel enough tah come aout.”

“I assure you, Doctor, that our medical team in experienced enough to handle the care and removal of a few dozen stitches.” The Director drawls, southern accent contrasting sharply with the doctor’s. “After all, the only reason we brought one of our top agents to you was because you had the equipment that could have saved his vision. It seems you have failed in that respect, so we will be taking Agent York back with us.”

The doctor sputters at the Director’s suggestion waving a stack of papers in the man’s face. York winces as South steps forward, her aggression menacing even out of armor. He isn’t the only one who can tell that apparently, as the staff disperse quickly, York’s doctor hustling them out as he himself retreats to the relative safety of the hallway. Once the room is clear of all non-project personnel, the Director addresses York directly.

“Agent York. The incident regarding the loss of your eye has been reviewed and we have decided that no punishment is necessary. As such, I expect you to return to your regular duties and training schedule as soon as the staff in our medical bay release you. Is that understood?” The Director’s orders are harsh and cold and exactly what York was expecting to hear.

“Yessir.” He replies with a salute. York is one hundred percent done with this stupid hospital platform and its awful news. If the Director wants to take him home then York is going to go with him willingly, options be damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m terrible with accents but I wanted to express that doctor’s accent. I’m aware the the Director and Wyoming also have accents, but since York, along with the entire fandom, can identify those accents as Earth accents (although the Director’s accent is not like any Texan accent I’ve ever heard? But I’m Canadian, so what do I know about Southern accents?) and therefore I do not feel like I need to emphasize those in the dialogue. Also, writing accents is a pain in the arse and I refuse to even attempt the Director’s accent. I’ll leave that to the pros on tumblr :)


	11. Hospital Beds and Handcuffs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash deals with his conflicted emotions as his insecurities help him jump to the wrong conclusion. North gets frustrated with him. York misses him. But after running into Maine again, literally, Wash finally gets the push he needs to address the issues at hand, which gains him some sorely needed sleep and stress relief courtesy of North.

Sometimes Wash wonders if his life could be any shittier. It feels like every time something good happens to him, bad things happen by the dozens to counteract whatever happiness he's gleaned. If he believed in gods, or reincarnation, or fate, maybe he'd have an explanation for all the events that manage to ruin his life. But he's been through far too much shit to believe in all-powerful beings. He's seen Covvie forces glass a planet, watched men get sliced in two by energy swords, witnessed a Sangheili Elite be torn apart by a rotary engine, blown up an Unggoy Grunt with a few well placed bullets to a gas tank, hell, he's even seen a group of SPARTANs take down a pair of Hunters. When you have as much experience with both human and alien lifeforms as Wash does, you have a hard time believing in gods, benevolent or vengeful. From what he's seen, everything dies eventually.

Including relationships, it seems. In the short time since they have returned from Angel On My Shoulder, Wash has been observing his place in his lovers’ lives shrink. York is still sequestered in the medbay, and even though he’s not fond of medical facilities, Wash visits as often as he can. However, no matter what time he goes, it always seems like North has already been there for a while and each time he leaves it is with the ever increasing feeling that he’s just intruded on a private moment. At first he chalked it up to his own insecurities stemming from the intense kiss the two of them shared at the medical station coupled with North’s residual guilt. But it is starting to become more difficult to find reasons for the distance he can feel spreading between them.

Normally his stubbornness and resilience combine to ensure that Wash fights for things he feels are his, but with all that has been going on in his life, he’s not sure he can deal with confronting them. Especially not when the two people he’d go to for help with this happen to be withdrawing from him; one out of guilt and a desire to avoid his wrath and the other too caught up in treasonous activities to spare any energy or concern for his welfare. So instead he convinces himself that he is fine with it. Let them fall back into what they had before. He’ll be OK fading into the background with the handful of memories they’ve given him. He didn’t join Freelancer to make friends and find love, after all. He’s a soldier; he doesn’t need anybody, he can get by on his own. So if he tells himself he’s accepting the inevitable when he stops visiting York at every meal three days after they’ve returned to the MoI, whose business is it really? Of course, what he fails to consider is the consequences his actions might have.

He especially doesn’t expect those consequences to include being pinned up against the wall outside his bunk by an irate sniper. The pure frustration in North’s voice makes shivers roll down Wash’s spine as the other man bites out a series of threats and demands. “I’m seriously sick of this childish bullshit, Wash. I don’t care if you are having an existential crisis, or fighting with your friends, or pissed at me. Grow the fuck up. You don’t get to just abandon him like that, no matter how upset you are. He’s been waiting for you since you didn’t show up after dinner yesterday, insisting that you probably just got caught up in something. Get over yourself and go give him a good night kiss before I put you in there with him.”

Wash might have considered the situation to be hot if he didn’t feel so goddamn confused. The sentiment must have showed on his face because North’s grip loosens somewhat, allowing Wash to pull away from the wall. He stares defiantly back at the older of his two lovers as the man takes in his appearance, looking at Wash for what feels like the first time in a week. He’s aware that the bags under his eyes are black and bruised looking. But he also knows that North is well acquainted with the fact that he has trouble sleeping alone when he’s extremely anxious about something and yet that hadn’t stopped his lover from turning him away only days after the accident. Nor has it stopped him from spending all his waking moments with York, bidding Wash good night without so much as the small comfort of a kiss. It is that thought that allows him the strength to throw off North’s hands, feeding the anger behind the retort he throws out behind him as he heads towards the medical bay, where the one lover than actually seems to remember him resides. “Like you’re one to talk about abandoning people, North. Just because he’s injured doesn’t mean I cease to exist. Maybe you should consider that next time you want to accuse people of being too caught up in their own lives.”

* * *

Wash takes his time getting to the medbay, stalling to collect his thoughts as he goes. He is well aware of how deeply in love he is with York and North, that he’s fallen too far down that hole to climb out on his own. But, at the rate he’s going right now, North will probably have no problem pushing him out. Deep in his own head once again, Wash doesn’t notice the other person in the hallway until he’s bouncing off their chest and slamming into the floor on his bruised backside with a pained yelp. Somewhat dazed, he glances up slowly, meeting Maine’s concerned gaze.

“Sorry. Need help?” Wash stares at the large hand being offered to him, debating whether how much he needs his friend right now outweighs how angry he is. In the end, need wins out and he grips the extended appendage tightly, allowing Maine to pull him up and steady him on his feet. He heaves a frustrated sigh when his friend comments on his appearance. “Look tired, should sleep.”

“Thanks buddy, I’ll get right on that. Oh wait, maybe I’m having a hard time sleeping because someone blew up my lover’s face with a grenade.” Maine shrinks back, guilt written all over his posture in the face of his friend’s sarcastic ire. Wash winces internally; the last thing he needs is to ostracize the only person who has actually noticed how tired he is. But he’s always had a hard time controlling his emotions when he’s this exhausted and his rage is still at a boiling point. Taking a long and slightly shaky, breath, he tries to calm himself. “I’m sorry Maine. I’m worried, I haven’t been sleeping very well, my relationship is falling apart, Connie won’t talk to me, and I’m still mad at you for making a stupid decision that messed York up pretty bad. I’m really tired, I’m really angry, and I’m really sad. And I don’t know what to do!”

That calming breath really didn’t do the trick, and by the time he gets all of that out, Wash can, embarrassingly enough, feel tears sliding down his cheeks. He brushes them away angrily, feeling like a child. Maine wraps an arm around him, tucking him against a well muscled chest in an embrace so tight he can feel the air rushing out of him. When Maine releases him a moment later, his side feels uncomfortably wet, suggesting he tore his stitches again. He lets out another weary sigh; yet another reason for North to be displeased with him. Maine slings an arm around his shoulders, steering him towards the medbay doors. “Calm now? Will be OK, I promise. Should go see York. Said he missed you.”

“What?” Wash stops dead, staring at Maine in shock. “You went to see him? When? I thought you didn’t like York?”

“Don’t like him. Doesn’t like me. Both of us like you. Went to apologize. Thought maybe then you’d forgive me.” Maine looks decidedly uncomfortable, refusing to meet Wash’s stare. He shifts, uncharacteristically nervous, as other man’s eyes study him carefully. When Wash finally releases the bigger man from his studious gaze with an accepting nod, those broad shoulders slump in relief. Maine tacks on one last explanation as he uses his access code to open the sealed doors and propel Wash through. “Was an accident, you know? Wasn’t supposed to be him. Texas had better armor, could have taken it.”

“Yeah I know. Thanks Maine. We’ll talk later, I have some things I need help with.” Maine grunts in acknowledgement as he backs out of the medbay, leaving Wash alone with the beeping monitors and nauseating smell of antiseptic. He allows his feet to carry him over the now familiar path to the curtained area that York has resided in for the last four days. The brunette insisted on the partitions only after the second set of bandages came off, informing the medic in charge that it would be easier for him to get used to his new appearance if he didn’t have everyone gawking at him. Wash and North suspect it was more for the added privacy that allows them the ability to kiss or cuddle with less risk of getting caught. Brushing the curtain aside to gain entry, Wash catches a brief glimpse of worry and insecurity on York’s face before his lover brightens considerably as he catches sight of his most recent visitor. Wash moves next to the bed, cupping the unmarred side of York’s face and placing a gentle kiss on his lips in greeting. “Hey there. Sorry I haven’t been around recently.”

York leans into his touch slightly, grey eye scanning Wash’s face for something, taking in the exhausted circles under his eyes and his paler than normal complexion that has his freckles standing out like tiny bruises coating his cheeks and nose. Hands come up to cradle his face, thumbs tracing along his cheekbones, following along beneath the tired bags that emphasize his exhaustion. “You haven’t been sleeping, have you babe?”

The question is simple, asked quietly and with such great concern. It is completely unexpected, considering the situation, and as such, takes Wash completely by surprise. His mouth falls open briefly before he snaps it shut, swallowing hard. That doesn’t stop him from blurting out the first thing that pops into his head. “Aren’t you mad at me too? Why are you acting so caring? I thought you guys didn’t want me anymore.”

“What? No!” York’s hands drop in shock as he leans back to take Wash’s statement in. “Are you kidding? This is a joke right? Of course we want you, Wash. I don’t understand where this is coming from. What could possibly make you think that I, that we, don’t want you? I love you.”

“North…” Wash’s voice comes out a lot more timid than he wants it to be, so he pauses for a second before continuing, pushing himself away from the bed. “He’s mad at me. He’s been ignoring me since a few days after the incident, so tied up in his guilt. We fought about it a few times, but now he won’t even touch me. And I was mad at him too, but I’m not anymore. Only, I can’t seem to get him alone long enough to talk to him. And every time I come to visit you, he’s here and it’s the two of you and then me. I feel like there isn’t room for me. Like I don’t belong anymore...”

“Oh.” The soft exclamation comes from behind him at the same time that York inhales sharply. Wash tenses as a pair of strong arms wind around him pulling him back against the familiar plain of North’s chest. The taller man’s lips press into his hair, disturbing his sandy locks with every puff as he murmurs out an apology. “I’m so sorry for not noticing, love. You’re right, I’ve been so focused on York that I have been neglecting you. Please forgive me.”

Instead of helping him relax like they should, the words make Wash stiffen further and struggle against North’s hold. Despite his obvious distress, the larger man continues to hold him, uttering soothing sounds against his hair as he starts to shake, exhaustion getting the better of him. The sound of York shuffling over captures his attention momentarily before North gently guides him to the bed, hands resting lightly on his sides, nudging him until he crawls in beside York. There is a moment of quiet before North voices a command. “Wash… Take off your shirt. Please.”

York’s eye widen and he starts to protest the timing of North’s request. “North, as much as I appreciate a naked or semi-naked Wash, I don’t think that it’s an appropriate time.”

Wash snorts from beside him, already pulling his shirt up so that North can get a good look at his ribs. His bullet wound has reopened for the fourth time and he’s surprised that North isn’t yelling at him again. He winces at the tutting sound that comes out of his eldest boyfriend’s mouth, still not on entirely comfortable footing with him. “Sorry North. I don’t do it on purpose, I swear. Maine squished me a little and the pressure caused it to tear.”

“Mm.” North cleans it carefully with an antiseptic wipe before pulling out a suture kit and setting to work on sewing him back up. “You’re lucky I have so much practice from stitching up South or else the medic on duty right now would be giving you another one her famous lectures and putting you on bed rest. But really Wash, you should know better. This is like, what? The fifth time? At this rate you are never going to heal. If you don’t want to take it easy then next time don’t get shot. What was that?”

“It’s only the fourth time.” Wash mumbles again, looking down at his hands to avoid the scrutinizing look of those ice blue eyes as he replies to North’s last question, uttered so sharply. He feels the flare of a blush creeping across his face at the correction. Looking up from his hands, he catches York smothering a chuckle and offers him a small smile before wincing when North gives a particularly sharp tug on the absorbable suture thread he’s using. Only after the man’s large hands leave him does he look at his ribs, noting the neat pattern of stitching that has resealed the wound. His gaze travels upward to offer North a small, grateful smile before quietly wording his thanks, trailing off to a whisper on the final words. “Thanks for taking care of me, North. I love you.”

A large hand cups his face, tilting it up so North can press a soft kiss to his lips. Wash tries not to shudder at the smell of antibacterial wash wafting off that hand and manages to successfully withhold that reaction until North’s hand slides away. “I’ll always take care of you. I love you too.”

“Wasshhh, Nooorth.” Their moment is interrupted by a needy whine from York. The brunette has propped himself up on his right elbow so that he’s angled towards them and he’s wearing the most ridiculous puppy dog look. It’s the same look he uses when he wants to be in the middle or he’s begging Wash for his dessert. The look that neither of his lover’s can resist. “Pay attention to mee! I want kisses too. Don’t you love me?”

The wobble in his voice at the very end is so perfectly pathetic that Wash can’t help reaching over to tug York closer. North takes the opportunity to crawl onto the other side of the bed, effectively sandwiching him between them. Wash watches with a smile as the tallest man places a teasing kiss on York’s collarbone, squeezing the pale hand that finds his. York lets out a satisfied sigh, tangling his hand in Wash’s still bunched up shirt and tugging him forward smoothly so they can trade a languid kiss. Wash can feel the last vestiges of his previous paranoia dispersing as all three of them tangle their legs together and settle into the comfort of each other’s presences. Soft spoken ‘I love you’s’ are traded along with small, sweet kisses as they cuddle and the heavy feeling of contentment settles in his chest as the warmth lulls him to sleep.

* * *

Wash wakes up feeling both incredibly heavy and almost like he's floating. Hushed voices weave in and out of his grasp as he struggles to claw his way back into consciousness. When he tries to focus on one for too long his head spins and he loses himself to sleep again. What finally pulls him from this frustrating cycle is York's quiet but sharp admonishment, accompanied by his body shifting.

"North! Be careful or you'll wake him." The floating feeling increases as he's lifted from the bed by strong, warm arms. Unconsciously, he snuggles into the warmth of the body he deduces must be North's. York continues whispering, tone tinged with what could be anger or annoyance. "You make sure he sleeps tonight. He looks like he hasn't slept properly in weeks, North. I still don't understand how we could have missed that."

A hand strokes his cheek tenderly, giving him the incentive to fight against the weights holding down his eyelids. He blinks sleepily against the the brightness of the medbay lights, meeting York's worried gaze. The other man lets out a soft curse when he realizes that the sleepiness clouding Wash’s eyes has begun to clear. Groaning, he presses his face into York’s hand turning slightly so he can place a kiss to the tanned palm cupping his cheek. Another hand cards through his hair before York leans down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Go back to sleep, babe. North is going to take you to bed, OK? I love you, Wash. See you tomorrow.”

“Love you too.” The words fall out of Wash’s mouth muddled, like he’s trying to talk around marbles. It generates a genuine laugh from York and a quiet chuckle from North that Wash feels more than hears. York’s thumb strokes across his cheek once more before dropping off his face entirely. One long blink later he finds himself staring up at North and York as they kiss each other goodnight. Humming his content he turns towards the warmth North offers, burying himself in the soft fabric of the purple project freelancer shirt his lover is wearing. When he breathes in all he can smell is the combination of aftershave, peppermint, and something Wash hasn’t quite been able to pin down that makes up a scent belonging distinctly to North. A smell his overtired brain insists is comforting. He lets that and the gentle motion of being carried lull him back into sleep.

* * *

When he wakes a second time, he’s in North’s bed with the taller man curled around him protectively. Sometime in the night the blankets have been kicked off and Wash shivers at the slight chill against his bare skin. It seems that North undressed him before tucking him into bed, and if it had been anyone else that had carried him all the way here and put him to bed, he’d be a little embarrassed. But he’s seen North do that for half of the agents in the Project; his boyfriend is pretty much the team dad.

Another draft reaches him and the skin of his arms immediately breaks out into goosebumps. He shuffles backwards, eliminating the minute amount of space between North and himself. When he moulds his body against North’s, tucking himself tight against the other man, he receives an interesting reaction. The low moan that escapes his lover’s mouth is accompanied by a, not entirely unwelcome, poke in the rear. The strong arms draped protectively around him tighten possessively as Wash rocks back into his bed partner, grinding down teasingly. North’s hips snap forward reflexively as he lets out another low moan, causing Wash to freeze. “Mmm… York.”

The rational part of his brain is telling him that North is in a pretty deep sleep, and technically he’s in the brunette’s spot on the bed. York always sleeps in the middle, so the other man’s assumption is understandable. Especially when coupled with the fact that York often pulls tactics like that when he can’t sleep and he wants someone to exhaust him. However, the less rational part of his brain fuels his neuroses, telling him that North would rather have York here. It feeds his anger as well, and he struggles to free himself from the entrapping arms that felt so safe only moments before, intent on punching his lover in his gorgeous face and retreating to the comfort of his own quarters.

He manages to escape those arms, rolling over just in time to meet the sleepy gaze of his oldest boyfriend. The goofy smile that spreads across North’s face is replaced by a cry of shock when Wash’s fist connect with his cheek weakly. “Ow! What was that for?”

As he rolls off the bed he catches North sitting up with a hand cupping his cheek, out of the corner of his eye. He ignores the man and his question as he searches for his clothing so he can get dressed before leaving. Locating his sweats, Wash pulls them on before scrabbling around for his shirt. He manages to pull that on as well before North’s large hand closes over his bicep, spinning him around. Confusion coats every word that falls from his lips, hand squeezing harder when he tries to pull away. “Wash… What’s going on, love? Where are you going? What did I do?”

The glare he offers North is so heated it could cut diamonds. Unfortunately, it is counteracted by his rumpled hair and sleep flushed cheeks. Instead of flinching back, North tugs him forward, stealing what he intends to be a quick kiss. Wash, already worked up from earlier and still full of self-righteous anger, turns the kiss into something more heated and rough. He drags a deep moan from the other man when his hands dive into blonde hair to tug sharply. North struggles to take control of the kiss, trying to push his tongue past Wash’s. The younger man fights back, licking his way into North’s mouth briefly before pulling him away by the hair to nip along his jaw and down his neck. He mutters angrily into the joint of his neck and shoulder. “You’re such an asshole sometimes. Moaning out York’s name in your sleep when you’re with me.”

“Shit… I’m mmm.” Wash interrupts him by biting down on his clavicle, sucking a bruise to his pale skin and drawing a low, indecent moan from his lover. The hand that isn’t gripping his bicep comes up to cup the back of his neck, holding him closer as North finishes his apology. “Love, I’m sorry. I’m used to York waking me up in the middle of the night for a quickie when he can’t sleep. Oh, mm that feels good.”

Wash presses his thigh between North’s legs, pushing himself onto his toes so he can grind his thigh into the other man’s erection as he rocks his own into North’s thigh. Pulling his mouth away with a satisfying squelching sound, he gazes up at his lover’s face, anger ebbing at the pure desire he meets in North’s blue eyes. All of the events and emotions he’s been feeling recently flood into him, rushing to fill the void that his rage leaves as it retreats. Concern flashes across North’s face before lips cover his in another gentle kiss. Wash allows himself to get lost in the kiss for a while, enjoying the tenderness that his lover pours into it. When North finally pulls away he sighs; it’s easier to not think when he’s being kissed.

The hand North has behind his neck squeezes softly, his thumb stroking along Wash’s jaw at the same time his other hand releases his arm so he can press it to the small of his back, pressing them together tighter. Lips graze his ear as North whispers an order to him. “Tell me what you want, Wash. What do you want me to do? How can I help you?”

“Do you… do you have restraints and a blindfold?” He hesitates only briefly in his request. “I feel like I need to be punished and role playing might be easier for you to do that. Also, I kind of want to know what it would have been like for York had he lost his sight completely.”

North shudders in response, hand increasing the pressure on his back, crushing him against his lover’s broad, naked chest. “I have a pair of handcuffs and a blindfold in the bottom drawer with the lube. But Wash, you didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t need to be punished for something you didn’t have anything to do with.”

“I know. But I feel guilty. And I want this.” He lets out a sigh, looking down in shame. “I know it will make me feel better. Please, North.”

“OK Wash. But we need a safe word just in case. And if we’re going to do this, then we’ll do it my way.” Wash stumbles back a few steps when North shoves him backwards slightly. He watches with hungry eyes as the older man, still only in his boxer-briefs sinks to his knees in front of the end table, fishing out pair of handcuffs, a blindfold, and a bottle of lube, and then hesitates for a moment before adding a vibrator that matches the green of his armour. “How do you feel about a prisoner scenario? I’ll be your captor and if you pleasure me enough I might let you go?”

“Sounds good.” Wash moans in agreement, eyeing up the vibrator excitedly. “We can work on the rest of the details as we go I guess. Seems like you know what you’re doing, huh North?”

“It’s not the first time I’ve done something like this, no. Watermelon is the safe word, OK?” Once he nods in agreement, North’s smile turns almost predatory as he eyes him up. He settles on the bed, piling the accessories he’s collected next to him. Adopting a steely voice, he barks out a command, sounding almost like Wash’s Sergeant in basic. “Alright then. Strip. Now.”

Wash’s cock twitches at the demanding tone in North’s voice but instead of jumping to obey, he takes his time, pulling his shirt up slowly with one hand as he sways teasingly. His other hand follows the path of his abs, running temptingly over them as he performs an impromptu strip tease. North’s eyes follow his progress hungrily, blazing with desire. The taller blonde makes an impatient noise as he slows down for a moment, rotating his hips in a slow circle as the hand not gripping his shirt dips under the waistband of his sweats. North makes an aborted reaching motion before growling low in his throat. “Stop teasing and get undressed or you’ll regret it, prisoner.”

A shiver runs down his spine as Wash finally tugs the shirt over his head, dropping it on the floor. He quickly shimmies out of his pants, letting them drop once they’ve slid past his thighs. Hooking his thumbs in the top of his boxer-briefs, he hesitates, meeting North’s eyes with a well practiced shyness. North raises his eyebrows, staring unabashedly at Wash’s mostly naked body for a moment before issuing another order. “I said strip. That means everything. Do I have to punish you for disobedience?”

“No… no sir.” He tugs his underwear down his legs, dropping his head in faked shame as he steps out of them. He only looks up once North makes a hum of approval. The other man continues to stare at him, scrutinizing him with a thoughtful expression. After a long moment, Wash starts to shift with discomfort, opening his mouth a few times, only to close it when he can’t bring himself to break the silence. When two minutes pass without a word, he finally screws up the courage to ask for the next direction. “What now, sir?”

“Come here.” North crooks a finger at him, beckoning him forward. However, when Wash moves to take a step, he tuts disapprovingly. “On you knees like a good little pet. Captives aren’t equal to their guards, now are they?”

Wash sinks to his knees, crawling across the cold floor to settle in front of North. A pale hand cups his cheek, North’s thumb tracing across his lips. He moans at the teasing touch. “Such a pretty mouth you have. I think we’ll have to put that to use, especially if you can’t stay silent. But first we need to secure you properly. Can’t have my little prisoner’s hands free. I hear you’re quite the dangerous one and I’d rather not have you trying to kill me. Hands behind your back with your wrists crossed.”

Wash obeys silently, watching with wide eyes as North collects the pair of leather padded cuffs and tightens them securely around his wrists, successfully restraining his hands behind his back. A hand strokes down his back, pressing him forward so that he’s no longer resting over his heels. The same hand takes the time to grope his ass before a finger traces along his cleft, pressing against his hole with a light pressure. Wash cranes his neck around to watch what North is doing. A light smack is placed to his left cheek before the man notices his gaze and shifts forward, collecting the blindfold from the bed. As he ties the blindfold over his lover’s eyes, the bigger man offers an explanation in a lecherous tone. “It’s more fun when you’re surprised. Can’t have you knowing what is about to happen, can we?”

Wash nods, keeping quiet like North suggested earlier. Another smack lands against his ass, this one harder than the last. “I asked you a question. When someone superior to you asks you a question, you answer. Now let’s try that again. We can’t have you knowing what is about to happen, can we?”

“No sir.” Wash moans out, tongue darting over his lips.

“Good boy. Now bend over more.” North’s hand grips his shoulder, pushing him closer to the floor, exposing more of him. A finger returns to trace a trail from his entrance down to his balls, before a hand cups them, tugging them sharply and pulling a whimper from his lips. North makes a noise of disappointment, landing another spanking onto his right cheek. “Stay quiet unless I ask you a question. If you make another sound without permission I am really going to have to punish you.”

Wash nods in understanding, waiting with anticipation for North’s next move. He bites his lip hard when a slick finger presses against him, easing its way into him. A couple of careful prods has him pushing back with desire, and he receives another finger in response. North prepares him quickly before removing his fingers. Something slightly bigger replaces the two fingers, stretching him deliciously. He can’t hold back the moan that the vibrator drives out of him when North turns it on. “Oh. Mmm, oh god.”

“So the rumors are true about you being a loud little slut, then.” The projected contempt in North’s voice wobbles slightly and Wash can hear the barely contained desire there. Large hands lift him up, tugging him so that he’s bent over North’s lap, the other man’s arousal pressing into his stomach. “It’s too bad that I am going to have to punish you for making noises, no matter how pretty they are.”

A hand descends on his backside, pressing his hard length against North’s thigh and the vibrator deep. His hips buck reflexively, seeking more friction as the hand falls again and again, punishing the globes of his ass repeatedly. He clenches his teeth, barely holding back his moans of pleasure. The spankings get progressively harder, until they bring tears to his eyes as the almost unbearable pleasure mixes with the dull throbbing of his bottom. North’s voice takes on a conversational tone. “You’ve been a very naughty boy recently. Do you know what you’ve done wrong, hmm?”

“No dad, I have no clue what I’ve done wrong.” Wash can’t help the sarcastic remark that falls from his lips. The blows cease as a desperate moan is released from North. He can feel his lover’s member twitching with excitement from that statement. Curious; it seems North may have a daddy kink. Putting that thought to the test, Wash poses a quiet question. “Will you tell me what I did wrong, daddy? Please tell me so that I can be a good boy for you later.”

“Oh god Wash. Mmm, be daddy’s good little boy and come sit in my lap.” North’s length grows harder underneath him as his lover breaks character with another moan. The hand resting on Wash’s ass pulls the vibrator free before shuffling him into position, so that he’s straddling his lover’s longer legs. A hungry kiss is placed on his lips before North shifts underneath him, pulling down his underwear and releasing his cock. He can feel the hardness of his partner as it springs free, slapping against the cleft of his ass. He stretches out his fingers, suppressing a grin when he finds that he can run them teasingly over the head of North’s prick. The end result is the other man thrusting up against his backside, bouncing him a little in his lap. Wash presses his face into North’s shoulder to hide his triumphant grin before adding a begging note to his voice.

“Your cock feels so big and hard, daddy. Please fuck me. I want to feel you inside of me daddy. I promise I’ll be a good boy for you.” He rocks backward to meet North’s next few thrusts and increase the friction. North places a kiss in his hair before his hands find the outside of Wash’s upper thighs, lifting him easily. He leans forward again to ensure that he doesn’t topple onto the floor, unable to grip North’s broad shoulders like he’d normally do. His lover’s big hands part his cheeks, pulling him down onto his shaft smoothly. They both let out wrecked moans when Wash wiggles a little. When he feels collected enough for North to move, he coaxes the other man with another whimper. “Daddy please. Please move. I want you to fuck me hard. Show me what I’ll get if I continue to be your good little boy.”

A hand smooths up his arm before finding the blindfold and tugging it off. North tilts his chin up so he can press a lingering kiss to Wash’s lips. “I want you to watch me as I fuck you, love. I want you to see how turned on you get daddy. How hard I am for my perfect boy. Make sure you tell daddy how good it feels, OK? I want to hear you scream.”

“Mmm, yes daddy.” Wash hums in agreement. North’s hand returns to its starting place, lifting him up and slamming into him. His lover sets a brutal pace, head thrown back in ecstasy as Wash continues to murmur praise. “Oh god, daddy. You’re so big inside of me. You feel so good daddy. Fuck me harder, please. Mmm, ahhh. Right there daddy. Oh god, oh god.”

North leans forward to capture his mouth in a sloppy kiss, shifting him so that he can support Wash with one arm, reaching between them to grip his cock. “God, you are so tight and hot and perfect for daddy. So perfect. I want you to come for me like a good little boy. Come for me and then let daddy come inside your pretty mouth.”

North twist his wrist just right, tugging Wash’s leaking member at the same time he thrusts mercilessly into his prostate, making him cry out and lose control. Panting into North’s ear he reaches completion with an embarrassingly loud moan. “Oh god daddy. Oh North!”

North strokes him through his orgasm, ignoring the splatter of Wash’s juices against his chest. Once he’s sure that he’s completely spent, Wash pulls back, lifting himself off North, wriggling out of his grip, and sliding to his knees on the floor. He’s not sure his wobbly legs will hold him anyway. Opening his mouth, he leans forward, looking up at North expectantly. When North stares down at him in a daze, Wash prompts him. “Daddy, aren’t you going to fuck my mouth? I really want to taste your come. Please, daddy, please let me taste you.”

“Jesus Christ, Wash. You’re going to be the death of me, you know.” North lets out a deep groan, hands coming up to grip his hair, pulling his head down so that he can thrust up into Wash’s open mouth, falling back into his improvised role. “Make sure you use your tongue on daddy’s cock like a good boy.”

North’s very careful with his thrusts, he notes. He must be thinking of the last time they did this, something that Wash hasn’t even considered. He trusts his lovers enough to know that that scenario will never be repeated again. He hums in tired pleasure as North’s hand strokes his head before coming to rest on his cheek, thumb pressing against the corner of his mouth to coax it wider. “You can take daddy deeper than that, can’t you Wash? Open wide, I want to feel you swallow around me.”

Wash does as he’s instructed, relaxing his jaw. The tip of North’s shaft bumps the back of his throat a few times before his lover pulls back almost completely. Wash closes his lips, sucking hard as North pulls his hair. His lover moans low, thrusting shallowly as he runs his tongue lovingly across the part of North’s prick that is in his mouth. The hand North has tangled in his hair drops down to grip the base of his own member, pumping it as he finishes in Wash’s mouth, coming hard with praises for Wash. “Oh god Wash. You’re such a good boy, sucking daddy’s dick so lovingly. Swallow down my seed like the perfect boy you are and let me see your mouth.”

Swallowing dutifully, Wash opens his letting North’s spent member fall from his lips as he displays his empty mouth for North’s inspection. The hand on his cheek once again tips his head back and his partner gazes down at him, eyes full of love. Hands slide from his head and face, dropping down to hook under his arms and pull him up onto the bed. North places kisses across his face before sealing his lips over Wash’s, teasing his mouth open so he can taste himself. Wash complies willingly, rolling his shoulders as his arms start to ache. When North pulls away, he fumbles for the key before reaching around and unlocking the cuffs. Wash moans in relief, wrapping his arms around North’s neck and snuggling into him. Hands smooth down his ribs before the other curses softly. “We tore your stitches again.”

“Mmm.. Do you have any gauze? We’ll fix it up properly tomorrow. Right now I just want to sleep.” A yawn punctuates that statement. North chuckles quietly before placing a kiss on Wash’s forehead and shifting so that his arms fall away from around him.

“Yeah, I have some in the top drawer. Just let me fix you up so you don’t bleed all over the bed and then we can sleep.” Wash watches with heavy eyes as the taller man slides off the bed, collecting gauze, some medical tape, and a package of wet wipes before returning to him. He accepts a couple of the offered wipes, cleaning himself up quickly while North does the same, before lifting his right arm and leaning back so that North has easy access to his ribs. His lover carefully cleans around the wound with another wipe, before tearing open the packet of gauze, pressing it carefully over the bleeding area. Tearing off a few strips of tape, he frames the gauze before placing a kiss just below it on Wash’s ribs. “Love you, Wash. Now lets sleep.”

“Love you too, North.” He murmurs back, pressing sleepily into the bed as North pulls the covers up around them, tangling their legs together as the bigger man embraces him loosely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Tumblr user bisexualyork for the handcuffs and captive/captor prompt, as well as my own personal prompt generator, disney_rox_my_sox. I apologize for the fact that North's Daddy kink trumped all.. Hope it was satisfactory.
> 
> As always, I encourage everyone to drop by my Tumblr ask box with any ideas or requests they have for this story of prompts in general. NSFW prompts are welcome as well.  
> You can find me at: http://thejokeristhethief.tumblr.com/


	12. Quests and Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash gets spoiled, North gets teased, and York decides it's high time he leaves the medbay.

The first thing North notices when he wakes is the painful tingling in his arm and the heavy weight on his chest. The next thing he notices is that the blankets have been kicked off at some point in the night, revealing the slightly bruised skin of Wash’s otherwise pale buttox and the telltale fingerprints marking the back his young lover’s upper thighs. Wincing, he smooths the hand of his trapped arm over the marred skin gently, taking in the blend of colours that blossomed overnight. Running the fingers of his freehand along the freckled back, he plays connect the dots, tracing some of York’s favourite patterns and creating some of his own constellations. The man in his arms groans, shifting slightly to press his face into the crook of his neck. North shudders when Wash’s lips move against his sensitive skin, muffled words barely registering in his brain.

“Mmm, what time is it? Do we need to be awake yet?” The smaller man moves, pressing into him more firmly and relieving the pressure on North’s arm. A shiver of delight runs down his spine when Wash stifles a yawn with his shoulder. “‘m still tired. And sore.”

“Sorry love. It’s only 05:00. You have another hour to sleep. But you’ll have to let me out of bed. I have a few things to take care of this morning. I promise I’ll be back by 06:00 so we can go see York before the mission briefing.” Wash groans as North lifts him gently off his arm before slipping out from under him. He smiles fondly when his lover whimpers at the loss and curls into the spot he just vacated. Holding back a gasp when his feet hit the cold floor, he pushes himself off the bed, bending to collect the blanket from its resting place. Turning back to the bed, North spreads the blanket over Wash, tucking him in and placing a sweet kiss on one freckled cheek. “Love you Wash, rest well.”

The sleepy hum he gets in reply is more than enough to melt his heart; he doesn’t often get to see Wash like this. The younger man is usually the first to wake out of the three of them and he’s usually chatting quietly with York by the time North has even stirred from his sleep. He’ll be the first to admit that he sleeps like a corpse and is likely more difficult and dangerous to wake than one, too. Quickly pulling on some clean clothes, he glances over at the blonde head peeking out from the covers one last time before heading out the door.

* * *

 

North’s first stop is at the medbay and he silently prays that York is still sleeping. As much as he’d love to stay and cuddle with the locksmith, he’s still on a mission to make Wash feel comfortable around them again. And since he promised they’d go and see York together a little later, it really wouldn’t do for the brunette to seem him now and ruin that plan. Despite this, he can’t help poking his head through the curtains to check on the older of his two lovers. He lets out a quiet but amused sigh as he takes in the sight before him: York is curled up on his side with his shirt rucked up to his armpits and all four limbs wrapped around the extra pillow he’d demanded, occasionally mumbling as his arms twitch tighter. North’s sock clad feet are silent as he pads over to the bed, brushing back the brown hair pressed against York’s forehead to press a quick kiss there. He curses internally when the man stirs and hums his name, before relaxing slightly when he moans Wash’s right after. York has a habit of talking in his sleep when he’s exhausted or having a particularly intense dream. Retreating silently, North wonders what he did to deserve such adorable boyfriends. 

Collecting a suture package, some fresh gauze pads, and some antiseptic wipes, he heads out of the medbay, ducking into the locker room briefly to fish out some fresh clothes for Wash. North knows he has a lot to make up for after leaving his freckled lover to stew in his own insecurities for so long. When he couples that with the marks he left after being so rough last night, he considers his debt to Wash to be quite considerable. Sighing at the guilt flooding his mind, he punches in Wash’s locker code, collecting a fresh pair of sweats, boxers, and a standard Freelancer T-shirt. A photograph taped between the usual cat pictures on the locker door gives him pause and he studies it intensely. Wash has never been one for personal mementos and photos, mostly because the man has nothing of the sort, but also because he hasn’t had enough happy moments in his life that he’d want to remember. Unlike normal people, Wash carries his memories in the form of numbers; a series of dates that he has tattooed on his ribs, the most recent of which represents the same thing as the picture taped securely to the door.

The item in question is from an old Polaroid camera, one that Connie liberated on one of their earlier missions. The snapshot depicts a grinning Wash in the center, back pressing against North who has an arm wrapped around his waist to steady him. The shorter blonde’s hands are planted firmly in middle of York’s chest, holding the other man out at arm’s length as the brunette tries to smear a handful of chocolate pudding across his face. The picture itself is almost as amusing as the memory and North takes time to admire the crinkle of York’s eyes, the unmarred left side of his face, the complete joy of his body language captured on the flimsy plastic sheet. He memorizes the youth presented in Wash’s face, the complete lack of the purple bruising under his eyes, and the innocent grin that has been suspiciously missing since the day of the grenade incident. He imagines that he probably looks a lot more stressed out now than his photo self.

Shaking himself out of his daze, North closes the locker door gently, careful not to disturb the photo. Leaving the locker room, he heads towards the mess, stopping briefly to drop the supplies in his room and check on Wash. The door opens with a quiet whoosh when he enters the six digit password. Slipping into the door, he dumps his armload quietly on the end table. Surprisingly, Wash doesn’t even stir at the slight clatter, proving exactly how exhausted he is. Relief and guilt swirl together, the two conflicting emotions somehow coexisting in North’s chest as he examines the freckled face that has been exposed by Wash kicking the blankets off again. He looks a lot younger like this, with his face relaxed and the bags completely vanished; almost too young North notes. A shiver catches North’s eye and he suppresses the urge to sigh with exasperation, instead reaching over to tug the blanket back over the sleeping man’s form.

Task done, he exits the room yet again, checking the time on his way out. It reads 5:35, he has more than enough time to complete his final task before he has to wake Wash. He smiles, heading towards the mess to put together the last part of his plan.

* * *

 

It takes North slightly longer than he’d thought it would to put together the tray he’s currently carrying down the hall towards his room and he once again finds himself hoping that the man that he left passed out in his bed has not yet awoken. Luck, it seems, is on his side this morning, as Wash is still huddled under the blanket, although his sleep seems more fitful that North remembers it being. Placing the tray down on the side table, he reaches out to touch the young man’s shoulder, carefully testing the waters. When no fists swing at him, he carefully shakes his exhausted lover awake. There is a small groan before Wash flops over onto his back blinking sleepily at North.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” North offers, voice chipper and full of love. Wash flinches, eyes staring at North in confusion. Obviously the other man isn’t used to him being even remotely pleasant in the mornings. He ignores that for now, reaching over to tug on one freckled arm until Wash is almost sitting, carefully tucking a pillow behind his back so that he’s propped comfortably against the wall. Leaning over, he presses his lips against Wash’s in a good morning kiss, despite the lingering taste of morning breath. Freckled arms wrap around his neck immediately, a hand tangling in his hair as the other guides him closer with pressure to his back. The enthusiasm his lover pours into the kiss forces North to adjust his position so he tosses a leg over one of Wash’s, hovering over him carefully. The man beneath him whines into the kiss, levering himself off the bed to press their bodies more flush together. Wash’s left leg wraps around North’s right in an attempt to pull him down. He lets himself be coerced, settling over Wash so that his groin lines up with his lover’s, despite the blanket and his clothes between them. The younger man ruts up into him, breaking the kiss with a moan. North takes the opportunity to trace the pattern of freckles decorating the bare clavicle before him with his tongue and is rewarded with a gasp for his troubles. Wash always makes the most delicious noises when a mouth in on or near the base of his throat.

When his lover’s movements start to get more desperate and the sounds falling from his lips become particularly pornographic, North pulls away, gently untangling himself. Wash whines again, a frustrated and disappointed sound that would have him feeling guilty if not for the knowledge that his intended actions will be far more pleasing. He quickly strips off his shirt, unwilling to risk getting it dirty and having to find a new one, before tugging the blanket and sheet down to expose the freckled expanse of Wash’s well toned frame. North wets his lips with anticipation as he takes in the body he still hasn’t completely memorized; sex with Wash is always an adventure and he comes out of it with some new piece of information every time. He must have gotten lost in his admiration for too long, as there is an impatient noise now coming from those perfectly ravished lips. He complies willingly with a small sigh, shifting downward as he trails a line of wet kisses over his boyfriend’s chest and abdomen, unable to help the teasing comment that falls from his lips. “No patience, Wash. You would make a terrible sniper.”

“Mmm, don’t be a dick, North. Stop teasing so much.” The reply is more of a demand than he’s used to hearing from the young man that is currently at his mercy, causing him to pause his ministrations and glance up. He’s met with a predatory and impatient gleam that is completely unfamiliar and out of place in those usually warm brown eyes. Wash groans in frustration when he stops, hand reaching down to tug at North’s hair before nudging him lower. He can’t help but chuckle at the forwardness that is usually lacking in the smaller man’s demeanor, obliging him by permitting his head to be directed over the other’s impressively hard member. Opening his mouth, he continues to grant Wash control, going willingly as the hand on his head pushes him down slowly until he has completely enveloped the leaking shaft. The grip on his hair tightens as Wash fights for control, forcing himself not to thrust too deeply into North’s mouth. He lets out a satisfied hiss, words of praise falling from his lips. “Yesss. Oh god, North. Your mouth is fucking perfect. So good. Fuck I love it when you suck me off.”

North hums, pleased at the reaction his mouth is gaining. Placing one hand on Wash’s hip to keep him from thrusting up too far, he wraps his other hand around the base of the cock currently in his mouth, stroking it in time with the movement of his head. Pulling off slightly, he sucks and licks at the head, pressing his tongue against the slit and underside at the same time he twists his wrist. Wash moans, writhing below him as his hips lift off the bed as far as North’s other hand will allow. The curses that fall from his lips are so jumbled that North has a hard time making them out. He gives a few hard sucks to the tip before plunging forwards, taking in all of his prick until he can feel it pressing against the back of his throat. He swallows twice before pulling back, tongue dragging across the underside as the hand previously holding onto the base of Wash’s cock drifts lower, gently palming his lover’s balls, squeezing softly and tugging slightly. This results in another moan, followed swiftly by words of warning. “Mmm, ah! North - oh god - I’m going to come.”

Letting go of his sack, North’s hand travels back up to stroke his hard length, pulling off with a wet pop to reply. “Come for me, love. Come in my mouth. I want to taste you.”

Wash growls in reply, hips snapping up as he presses North’s mouth back down over his leaking shaft, burying himself deep. North manages to press him back down before he chokes, hollowing his cheeks out as he sucks hard, pumping his hand along the exposed flesh. Wash explodes in his mouth, finishing in hard, warm spurts that he swallows down greedily, relishing the taste of his lover. The moans that accompany the act are positively sinful and North wishes he could record them for later use. However, he’ll just have to use his memory, he supposes. Pulling off slowly, he gently squeezes every last drop out before releasing Wash from his mouth carefully. The younger man slumps back against the pillows, muscles shaking and contracting with the aftershock of his intense orgasm. The hand still buried in North’s hair tugs softly, leading him upwards to collect a soft thank you kiss. He presses his tongue past Wash’s lips, offering the other man a taste of himself, before pulling away with a satisfied sigh.

“Holy hell, that was amazing.” Wash’s eyes are wide with shock and North can’t help offering him a smug smile before slipping off the bed. Locating his shirt, he pulls it back on before collecting the tray he set on the side table, purposely ignoring his own hard on. Placing the tray across Wash’s lap, he settles himself down, pressing into the other man’s side carefully. The confused look he receives is so adorable it melts his heart. “What’s all this?”

“Breakfast in bed, silly.” North chuckles softly, nudging him slightly. “Fruit salad, bagels, orange juice, and those little cheese cubes you like. I thought you deserved to get spoiled today. I never really get the chance to do stuff like this for you.”

“Wait, this is a real thing? Like people actually do this?” The dumbfounded look on his lover’s face is not nearly as cute now that North realizes that Wash hasn’t ever had the opportunity to be spoiled like this. Sometimes he forgets how rough it was for the youngest Freelancer growing up, especially with his naive and optimistic persona. An ache grows in his chest when he realizes all the little things that Wash has never experienced and that York and himself could be doing daily. Silently vowing to do more for the man beside him, North shakes himself out of those depressing thoughts, offering Wash a warm smile as he swipes a bagel from the tray.

“Yep, it is a real thing. A thing we are doing right now. So eat up, love. Afterwards we’ll fix your stitches and then we can go see York. I got him a bagel and a little bowl of fruit salad too.” He gestures to the plate he left on the side table before taking a bite of his bagel. Wash beams at him, spoon chasing a grape through the large bowl of fruit salad that North made for him. Popping the piece of fruit into his mouth victoriously, he rests his head against his shoulder with a content sigh. Resting his head on Wash’s, he inhales deeply, basking in the romance of the moment. He shifts slightly when the other man spoons in another mouthful, tearing off another bite of his bagel as well. They stay there, cuddled together sharing breakfast, until the last bite of cheese is gone. Sliding the tray from Wash’s lap, he returns it to the side table before sliding off the bed to collect the medical supplies from on top of the foot locker.

Carefully peeling back the temporary patch job he did last night, North examines the damage he inflicted. The stitches aren’t torn as badly as he feared; rather, they aren’t torn at all. He sighs with relief as he takes in the inflamed area carefully. It seems the stress they put on the wound last night just caused a higher level of seepage than normal, pulling slightly at the edge of the healing skin and causing it to bleed. Tossing the suture packet onto the side table beside the tray, he pulls out the antiseptic wipes, opening one up and gently cleaning out the wound. He can feel Wash tensing under his hands and glances up to comfort him. The horror he sees in the younger man’s eyes is distressing and he immediately stops what he is doing, dropping the wipe in favour of gripping one of Wash’s white knuckled hands.

“What’s the matter, love? Your stitches didn’t even tear so you don’t have to worry about me needing to sew you up again.” The hand he’s holding squeezes back tightly as the man forces himself to take a few deep, calming breaths. North strokes his thumb over Wash’s tight knuckles soothingly. “It’s OK, Wash. I’m here. You can tell me what’s wrong now.”

“It’s just the smell.” The reply is tight and shaky as Wash tries to control himself. “It reminds me of the hospitals back on my colony. Like they were trying to cover up the scent of death and decay with the perfume of antiseptics and bleach.”

North releases Wash’s hand, scrambling to get rid of the wipe. He launches it across the room, landing it squarely in the garbage can, before tugging open the bottom drawer of his side table and fishing out the unopened bottle of chocolate lube that York proudly presented him on his birthday. Popping open the bottle, he squeezes some onto his hands to eliminate the scent, spreading it around before unthinkingly offering his fingers to Wash. His lover huffs out a laugh before taking the offered fingers in his mouth, cleaning them off carefully. North watches in confusion as he pulls away with one last lick, offering a devilish smile in return. “Not bad. Couldn’t let that go to waste, not with all the hard work York went through to find that stuff.”

“How considerate.” He leans in to kiss that smile off Wash’s face, wiping the rest of his hands off on the sheets. Once they are lube free and Wash is sufficiently breathless, North finishes patching up his lover, taping the gauze over the wound carefully. He presses another quick kiss to Wash’s abused lips before standing up, tugging the slighter man with him. Wash allows himself to be guided by him, accepting the fresh clothing he’s offered with a word of thanks. North lets him get dressed, collecting the tray and placing York’s food on the corner of it. They’ll stop at the mess on their way to see him. Wash presses a quick kiss on the edge of his mouth when he’s finished dressing before leading the way out.

* * *

 

Their trip to the medbay is uneventful, even with the quick pit stop at the mess hall. Apparently most of the other Agents are taking advantage of the late mission briefing, and consequently free morning, to sleep in. Wash leads the way through the doors, punching his access code in for them so that North doesn’t have to balance the plate of food he’s carrying. The smile he offers North over his shoulder as they duck through the curtain into York’s domain could light up a black hole. As it is, it warms North to the bones, making his knees weak and his stomach flip. He voices the question he’s been asking himself all morning aloud. “What did I do to deserve you guys? How could I possibly be worthy of two people as amazing as you?”

Wash laughs, a sound of pure joy that neither he nor York have heard in weeks. His other boyfriend perks up immediately, eyes watching the young blonde hungrily, taking in the way those brown eyes crinkle in amusement and that adorable nose scrunches. North watches them both carefully, feeling a bit of the weight lift from his shoulders as some of the exhaustion fades from both of their postures. When the laughter stops, Wash explains quietly. “I was just wondering that myself, you know? I mean honestly, you’ve spoiled me so much this morning that I don’t know what to do with myself. What kind of soldier gets breakfast in bed? I swear I have the best boyfriends ever. Thank you for everything, North. I love you.”

Smiling, North presses a kiss to the blush covering Wash’s cheek. “Anything for you, Wash. I love you too.”

“Heyyy.. What about me? Where are my kisses?” York cuts in, a dramatic pout crossing his face. Wash snorts in laughter before stepping forward to place a sloppy and equally dramatic kiss to his cheek with a wet squelch. The brunette makes a noise of disgust, wiping the mess of saliva off his face with a glare. “Not cool, Wash. I actually wanted a real kiss.”

“Oh quit being a baby.” The younger man laughs before offering York a proper kiss. One that the hospital ridden man takes full advantage of, deepening it as he tugs Wash on top of him. When they break apart to breathe, Wash has a slightly dazed look in his eyes. A look that North is sure that he’ll also be wearing soon. York’s kisses are mind blowing when he’s sexually frustrated, and his lover’s gone without for almost two weeks now. North’s pretty positive that the night the infiltration expert gets released is going to be a whirlwind of pleasure.

“Mmm, you taste like chocolate, Wash.” York mutters, licking his lips as Wash rolls to the side, propping himself up on an elbow so he can see the other man’s face. North grins, knowing that the freckled man has positioned himself perfectly so that he can watch them kiss. Wash once told them that the only thing hotter than watching them make out is observing the way York takes North’s cock. Completely willing to give into his lover’s voyeuristic ways, North carefully places the plate of food down before leaning over to capture York’s lips with his own. He lets the other man lead the kiss, hungrily chasing the tongue in his mouth with his own before following it back into York’s mouth, sweeping across his teeth and pressing against the roof of his mouth. Wash lets out a quiet moan, causing York to laugh in delight, breaking the kiss before pressing a soft one to the corner of North’s mouth. “Good morning to you as well, babe. God I miss you two. Can’t wait to get out of here.”

Wash’s reply is quiet. “We can’t wait for you to be out either. It really sucks in here.”

“Don’t worry York, I imagine you’ll be out soon. Your face is almost healed and your stitches all came out yesterday morning, right?” He waits for the confirming nod before continuing. “So that means they’ll probably let you out tonight or tomorrow morning. In the meantime, we brought you some breakfast. We still have about an hour before we have to get ready for the mission briefing, so there’s plenty of time for cuddles this morning.”

York’s grin returns and he reaches for the plate that North offers him, eagerly flipping off the bowl he used to cover it. A pleased moan falls from his lips, scrambling North’s brain, as he takes in the bagel stuffed with scrambled eggs, cheese, and bacon and the side of fruit salad. “Oh man. I have the best partners ever. This is like heaven on a plate. Now it’s my turn to wonder how I got so lucky.”

“That’s all North.” Wash winks, offering York a secretive smile. North swipes the glass of water York placed on the small side table last night, taking a deep drink as the man continues. “He was feeling particularly generous today. Insisting on taking care of me. If it weren’t for the blow job this morning, you could claim he was acting father-like. Isn’t that right, Daddy?”

North promptly chokes his mouthful of water, sputtering as he flushes beet red from embarrassment. York perks up with interest. “What did the two of you get up to last night, then? Do tell.”

Wash’s smile only grows as he cuddles into York, rests his head under the brunette’s chin. The two of them beckon North forward as soon as he regains his composure and he settles in, tucking himself behind York on his right side, allowing the man’s arm to be free so he can eat. Once Wash is satisfied that they are all comfortable, he relays last night’s events to York in excruciating detail, describing every minute detail, down to the last moan. If North wasn’t feeling completely mortified, he probably would have found it quite arousing. As it is, he’s half tempted to flee, especially when York turns his attention from Wash to focus on the rare sight of him blushing. “Holy shit, North. I knew you had your kinks, but wow. Daddy kink? No wonder you insist on taking care of the whole team. I better watch my mouth, or next time it’ll be me you turn over your knee.”

“Oh don’t you start.” He glares at the two snickering men he’s sharing space with. “I’m well versed in your kinks Mr. Tie-Me-Up-And-Punish-Me. And we allll know about you, Mr. I-Talk-A-Big-Game-But-I’m-So-Vanilla-You-Might-As-Well-Call-Me-Ice-Cream. Honestly, my daddy kink is nothing compared to all those little role plays going on in your head, Wash. You’re mind is one fucked up place. And at least I have a specific kink, York. And don’t give me that ‘I’ll try anything’ speech of yours. Just because you’re willing to do whatever your partner wants doesn’t mean you have one. Don’t be assholes about it.”

“Whoa, hey. Uncalled for, North.” York’s expression is slightly taken aback and tinged with hurt. Wash edges away from them, eyes wide with alarm, hands stretched out in a placating manner. North eyes them warily before taking a deep breath and letting the tension go with the exhale. York studies him carefully for a minute before speaking again. “OK, so obviously that’s a touchy subject. We’re sorry for teasing you, babe. Honestly, I can work with the Daddy thing. It sounds like it could fun. No need to feel self-conscious over it.”

Wash is balanced precariously on the edge of the bed, just out of arm’s reach. North winces at the way he refuses to look up from his hands, even while issuing his apology. “I’m sorry North. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was judging you. I was just playing. I won’t do it again. And I won’t make you take part in my fucked up fantasies either.”

“Hey now, come on Wash. He didn’t mean it like that.” York wraps a hand around Wash’s forearm, tugging him closer. “Tell him, North. Tell him how excited you got after that first night. Explain how turned on you got when you realized that he might actually be able to put you through your paces.”

Wash glances up, shame colouring his cheeks and reflecting in his eyes. North feels his stomach churn at the realization that he put that expression there. “Fuck. I’m sorry Wash. I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t mean it at all. I love the fact that you have so many different fantasies. It changes things up, makes every time new and exciting.”

Wash’s expression wavers for a minute before he nods silently in acceptance, allowing North to reach over and pull him into a hug. York sighs with relief, wrapping his arms around both of them tightly and pressing kisses to each of their cheeks. “We really need to get this communication thing down better. Can’t have so much insecurity and miscommunication threatening to break us apart every time we finish fixing the last thing. 

Wash hums in agreement. “Yeah. I don’t want to lose you guys over some stupid misunderstanding. Love you both too much to accept that.”

North just squeezes them tighter in response, unwilling to let either of them go just yet. “It’s going to take a lot more than some ridiculous argument to force me away from the two of you. I doubt anything, barring death, could do that. And even then, I’d find a way to stay with you.”

The last of their tension melts away with his words, and the three of them relax into a serious cuddling session that lasts until Wash grudgingly reminds him of the mission briefing at 07:00. York whines quietly as they separate, voicing his discontent at being left behind. Wash offers him a cheeky grin in reply. “I promise I’ll bring you back a souvenir, York. Maybe a funny shaped rock or something. Just to prove I was thinking of you tucked up all safe in the medbay while we’re out there kicking some butt.”

York huffs in response, middle finger forming the reply that his lips can’t, otherwise occupied by North’s chaste kiss. Wash chuckles before sweeping in to replace his lips when the taller blonde steps back, waiting patiently by the door. York watches them longingly as they move to leave, calling out to their backs. “You two are assholes. Come back safe.”

* * *

 

Suiting up for the mission goes by smoothly, leaving North astounded, once again, by how fast Wash can actually get into and out of his armour. By the time he’s finished putting on his armour, Wash is leaning against his locker casually, helmet tucked under his arm. Doing up the last clasp on his boot, he pushes himself off the bench, glancing around swiftly before stealing a soft kiss from the man standing before him. Wash presses forward eagerly, chasing the kiss for a second before breaking away when he realizes where they are. “Oops. Got a little caught up there. Ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” North replies, allowing Wash to lead him out. “This mission’s pretty big. Wonder who else will be on it.”

Wash shrugs in reply as they head down the corridor reaching the briefing at the same time Maine does. The other Agent offers them a friendly head nod, helmet already firmly in place. North hides a smile as Wash grins at his friend before donning on his own helmet, following their lead. He blinks a few times as his eyes adjust to the brightness of the HUD. They all step inside, Wash chattering away to Maine like an excited high school student. The big man lets out a low chuckle of amusement at the youngest Agent’s antics, dropping a calming hand to his shoulder. North watches in surprise; sometimes he forgets how well and how often those two work together. In most respects, Maine is Wash’s mission partner, unless the mission requires more finesse and then he gets sent out with CT.

North glances around the briefing room, taking note of all the Agents present. He winces when the absence of South becomes abundantly clear. That is one conversation he is not looking forward to. No matter how many times he tries to explain that her skills aren’t the issue, he still has to listen to her bitch about how unfair the Director’s ranking system is. It seems Wash has noticed the lack of South as well, as he offers North a sympathetic shoulder shrug and head tilt. A text comm pops up across his HUD, pinging on his private line.

- _No South? I don’t envy you for that chat when we get back_ \- The grey text alerts him that it’s from Wash, a reminder that he definitely doesn’t need. It’s swiftly followed up with another grey text. - _Don’t let her beat on you too bad, OK? Don’t like it when your bruises aren’t from the bedroom._ -

He coughs to suppress his laughter, firing off a response. - _Can’t make you any promises but I’ll certainly try to fend her off._ -

- _I guess that’s all I can ask for._ \- Wash tips his head in acknowledgement from across the holo-table. North is about to reply when Carolina returns, followed by the Director calling them to attention. The briefing begins and North shuts out all outside thoughts, focusing at the task at hand. Carolina and Wyoming go back and forth, trading question for answer for comment before North feels the need to speak up, questioning the objective’s name. The director provides an unsatisfactory answer but North doesn’t push the question further, allowing the briefing to continue on as he contemplates the secrecy of this mission.

“I'm guessing they don't keep that just taped to the side.” Wash’s sassy comment draws him out of his head, forcing him to focus on the briefing. He listens to Carolina and the Director filling in more of the details before Wash jumps in with a clarifying comment. “So that means two teams.”

Carolina nods in agreement, parroting his observation back at him before designating Wash to her team, and assigning him lock picking duty. North winces in sympathy; he warned his lover that practicing locks with York occasionally might come back to bite him in the ass. But Wash, being the eager rookie that he is, insisted on learning, just like he demanded North help him with his long range marksmanship. He has the sudden urge to send the younger man a text comm with ‘I told you so’ in it. Instead he smirks into his helmet as Mr. Sarcastic responds again. “Um… OK. Guess I'll re-read my field manual on the transport.”

The smirk quickly drops off his face as his heart drops somewhere into the range of his stomach. He shakes his head in disbelief as York strides confidently in the room in full gear. “Hey, don't be so quick to give away my job.”

Wash starts violently, head tilted towards York in shock. “York?”

Carolina cuts in before Wash can continue or North can berate his tan clad lover. “I thought you were in the hospital.”

York snorts, full of his usual cocky arrogance. North can see right through his charade and he suspects that Wash can too. “According to their records, I am.”

Carolina studies him carefully for a moment before asking the question North bets the entire room is dying for an answer to. “How's your eye?”

York shrugs nonchalantly body language full of false bravado. “It's okay. Docs will let me out tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, huh?” There is a subtle note in Wash’s tone that suggests there is going to be hell to pay later. North silently agrees, already preparing a brutal lecture in his head.

York swaggers towards the holo-table placing Carolina between himself and Wash. Unfortunately for York that means he’s within reach of North’s foot. He doesn’t hesitate to press the toe of his boot into the unarmoured area behind York’s knee lightly, a warning that he isn’t happy with this turn of events and a promise that there will be more to come later. York shakes him off without so much as a glance, offering a flimsy excuse in the face of Wash’s concern. “Look, I couldn't let you guys have all the fun without me. Besides, you need someone to get you in.”

North can practically feel the waves of panic coming off of Wash at that response, watching helplessly as his youngest lover leans over to Carolina and quietly mutters something to her. Judging by the way his shoulders slump in defeat, Carolina disagrees with him. North catches the dejected mutter as he turns his attention back to York. “It's your call, boss.”

Carolina sidles up to York, muttering quietly to him, but not quiet enough for North not to be able to hear. “You're good, right?”

York tenses and his answer causing North to cringe internally. “Okay, look, I said I was okay. Good might be overselling it a little.”

The Director cuts off any more chatter, settling the matter with his words. “It's settled, then. York will join Team A and get them in the facility.”

“Thank you, sir.” North watches as York switches spots with Carolina, moving close enough to Wash that their fingers brush. The younger man tenses before relaxing into the contact, briefly hooking their baby fingers together. North allows a fond smile to touch his lips before focusing his attention back on Carolina.

“Team B will be North, Wyoming, and C.T. You will act as recon for Team A, and once we enter the building, you will disengage to attack the target on the freeway. North will lead Team B.” Carolina focuses her attention on him for a moment.

North nods, taking in the instructions carefully before replying. “Got it.”

CT - North wonders when he started referring to her by that name in his head - jumps in with a comment that stirs up the room, asking what he’s been wondering. “What about Agent South?”

The Director slaps her question down with a harsh response, warning in his voice. Wash’s posture stiffens. “Agent South will not be accompanying you on this mission.”

She doesn’t seem to catch onto the warning, firing off another question. “Hmm, guess the world's a tough place when you move down a rank. And where's our new recruit? Will she be joining us?”

The Director snaps at her, voice raising dangerously. “That's enough questions, Connecticut.”

Her final comment is muttered under her breath, so low that only Wash seems to catch it shaking his head minutely. North watches him carefully while listening to Carolina continue with her instructions. “Team B should be simple. Stop the vehicle and grab the case. Team A? You have more of a challenge. Mainly, the Sarcophagus is an unknown.”

“How unknown are we talking?” Wash’s voice has a minor tinge of incredulity to it as he asks.

“Unknown in that we don't know its size, or its weight, or its dimensions.”Carolina explains, pulling up a red insignia on the hologram projector. “We just know it will have these markings somewhere on the exterior.”

North immediately recognizes the symbol from the mission he got shot on, ignoring the phantom pains that shoot through his chest in favour of commenting on it. “I saw those same markings on the oil platform.”

“Correct.” The Director confirms his theory quickly with a small nod. “That facility created the primary objective.”

Wash jumps in quickly, almost as if he understands that North is trying to distract himself and hopes to help. “Do we know what's inside it?”

“Yes…” The Director pauses briefly, as if he’s considering elaborating before simply continuing on. “We know.”

“How do we know what's in it, but not how big it is?” North winces in sympathy as the Director turns his silent glare on CT. She immediately withdraws her question, quietly apologizing. “Sorry, sir.”

Carolina attempts to settle the tense feel of the room by offering them a small pep talk. “We have a job to do, people. Let's do it right and come home safe.”

The Director allows the briefing to end there, dismissing them swiftly. “That is all. You are dismissed!”

“Yes, sir!” North salutes with the rest of the team, falling in line with York and Wash as they head towards the docking bay. Wash is already tearing into York for leaving the medbay early, concern coating his every word. The steel and yellow clad Freelancer falls back a step when York shakes his hand off in annoyance. His stance falls into something more defensive and North pushes himself forward to intercede before another argument can break out. “York, you probably shouldn’t be out of the medbay yet. But since you are, be extra careful OK? And Wash? Watch his left when you can. I won’t be there to make sure you both come back in one piece so promise me you’ll watch each other’s sixes.”

“Yeah. Yeah, OK.” Wash sighs heavily. “If he insists on doing stupid shit I suppose I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

York snorts, elbow nudging gently into Wash’s ribs. “More like I’m going to have to watch your ass so you don’t get run over. I’m sure they are cars on this planet, Wash.”

By the way Wash’s visor snaps up and focuses on York, North deduces that the weapons specialist is probably sending a death glare at their lover. “On second thought, maybe you should ask Carolina to look after him. I might shoot the jackass myself.”

North snorts as York pauses in shock before quickening his pace to catch up with them again. “Aww come on Wash. You know you wouldn’t shoot me. You love me too much for that.”

“Sometimes I’m not so sure about that.” North grins when Wash’s voice adopts a teasing tone. “Maybe I’m just putting up with you because I love North so much.”

York gasps in mock hurt. “You wound me. That cuts really deep Wash. How could you? At least North loves me. Right North?”

“The two of you are ridiculous.” He lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head softly. They enter the ship’s hold and North hesitates for a second as they pass by South, silently brooding at the door. He’s about to take a step towards her and offer her some kind of solace, before noticing the hunch in her shoulders and the way she tenses when she sees him. He lets it go with a soft sigh, splitting off to join his team with a silent nod towards his partners.

* * *

 

The Pelican ride is boring without York or South there to banter with him like usual. CT stays quiet throughout the entire ride and Wyoming is sitting up front with Florida, who for some unfathomable reason, is piloting the ship. North lets his mind drift, scripting the two chats he anticipates having on his return. He’s not sure which conversation is actually going to be more difficult to have; York is stubborn and will insist he was right to come along, but South is, undoubtedly, working herself into a self righteous rage. Not that North can blame her. He’d be more comfortable with her by his side as it were. Just as he’s about to start considering the reasons behind the Director benching her, Wyoming comes back to alert them of their arrival. North order’s Florida to open the hatch, activating his grav boots and hefting his sniper rifle. Wyoming copies him, and together they scan the surrounding area for any telltale signs of insurrectionist activity or surveillance. When he finds none, he glances over at the white-clad Freelancer, receives a head shake in return.

“Team A, you look clear. Window is open.” North radio’s Carolina, as per her request. “Start your clocks. On my mark. Mark.”

Carolina responds a few seconds later. “Sync. Roger that. Team A is moving.”

“Copy that, Carolina.” He lets his voice drop down to a more softer note, thinking of York and Wash as he says the next part, opening the channel up to the entirety of the team. “Good luck, Team A.”

“Thanks.” Carolina replies for all of them, confidence in her voice. “We won’t need it.”

Switching to his teams frequency, North addresses Wyoming and CT. “Alright Bravo, let’s move out. We have three minutes until first alert. Let’s have our target in hand by two.”

“Someone’s got a bit of pep in their step today.” CT comments, smirk evident in her voice. “Did my boy get some last night, then?”

“Maybe you’d know if you actually talked to him once in a while.” North winces as soon as the words leave his mouth. It’s not his place to get into whatever is going on between Wash and his friends, but watching his lovers hurt while doing nothing isn’t something he’s ever been able to do. To his surprise, he doesn’t receive a snide comment in return, but rather an apologetic shrug.

“Things have been… Confusing. But it’ll all become clear soon, I swear. I just can’t deal with the naivety right now.” She shifts awkwardly, following his lead as he drops the three feet to the ground. “I love Wash. I really do. But sometimes I wish he’d open his eyes a little more often.”

North opens his mouth to reply, only to be cut off by Wyoming. “Sorry to interrupt old chaps, but I believe we only have a short window of time to operate in.”

North curses his wandering mind, forcing himself to focus on the directive. CT, on the other hand, continues their conversation as they hijack a car. “I really thought the incident with York and the grenade might have knocked some sense into you as well. And this thing with South. What do you think the Director is trying to do?”

North gives her a warning look, gripping the dash tightly as she weaves through traffic, chasing down their target. Wyoming curses in from the back, and North can see that he has a death grip on the turret handles. “CT, it is neither the time, nor place to discuss this sort of thing. Nor am I sure that I am the right person to talk about it with. Have you brought your concerns to Carolina or the Director himself?”

She scoffs lightly. “I doubt I’d survive doing that. Look, never mind. I’m just talking hypotheticals and crackpot theories. Sometimes it feels a little surreal, you know? I signed up to fight aliens, not some splinter faction that doesn’t like the way the universe is run. People are people and my whole purpose for becoming a soldier was to save them. Not help them destroy each other. This isn’t what I intended to do.”

“I suppose I understand. But right now we have a job to do. Save your crisis of morality for another time and lets get this done.” North orders, slightly shaken by the information his fellow Agent just entrusted him with. What does she expect him to do with it, anyway?

“Of course. The tracker says the target is dead ahead; two, maybe three, cars in front of us.” She swerves back into the adjacent lane as Wyoming shoots out the tires of several vehicles in front of them. The reaction is instantaneous: two police cruisers flip on their sirens and lights, slamming on their brakes to box them in and return fire. CT attempts to veer left around the cruiser in front of them, clipping it and sending them spinning into the barrier lining the freeway. North throws himself down in his seat as their vehicle starts to roll, dragging CT with him. The roll bar and the hood of the jeep take the brunt of the damage as the car travels three flips before skidding down the road on its side. Dislodging himself from the space between the seat and the dash where he’d wedged himself in tight, North flips himself out carefully, helping CT free herself as well before surveying their surroundings. Their vehicle is on fire, but the location of the flames suggests they still have a while to use it as cover before it explodes. Scanning the road, he locates Wyoming sprawled out awkwardly with a growing patch of red staining his snowy armour. Pulling his rifle off the magstrip on his back, he rests it carefully on the edge of the car. “CT, grab Wyoming while I lay down cover. On my mark.”

“On it.” The reply is instantaneous as the woman drops into a crouch, readying herself to sprint over to their fallen comrade.

“3, 2, 1… Mark.” North counts down as he carefully selects his target: the gas tank of an overturned car near the two cars the gunfire is coming from. Taking a deep breath he squeezes the trigger at the exact moment he utters the order that sends CT darting out of cover. She collects Wyoming quickly, throwing one of the larger Agent’s arms over her shoulders to drag him back. The sight would be comical if not for the danger of the situation. While Wyoming isn’t anywhere close to being the largest Freelancer, with a build similar to that of York or Wash’s, he has close to a foot of height on his tiny rescuer. North takes aim at the head that peeks out from cover to assess the situation, watching in satisfaction as a slight spray of red erupts from his targets helmet before disappearing from view. He squeezes the trigger again when another enemy presents themselves before ducking behind cover to examine his returning teammate and her unconscious cargo. They focus on quickly locating and sealing off any bleeding wounds with the canister of biofoam North fishes out of one of his ammo compartments.

“Team B report.” North almost jumps out of his skin when Carolina hails him on the radio, as focused on Wyoming as he is. Her voice rings out again, demanding a response. “Team B!”

“Team B is down!” North winces when he realizes that he’s broadcasting that to all of Team A. Hopefully neither of his lovers, particularly Wash, gets distracted by it. “We have wounded and are taking fire.”

“We’ll be right there.” Carolina responds immediately, cutting off the sharp intake of breath that North is almost positive belonged to York.

“Negative.” North glances over at the location of the two final police officers, calculating the likelihood of them being shot. The odds are in their favour so he continues. “Get the package. Get it out of the city.”

“Roger that.” Carolina responds before North cuts the connection, unwilling to risk hearing York’s voice.

A gold coloured text comm flashes across his screen just as he’s taking out the second last cop so he ducks back into cover to read it. - _Get to safety. Wash’s transporting the package back to the MoI_.-

North heaves a sigh of relief before sending a reply - _Only one enemy left. Nothing to worry about here. Make sure you come back in one piece or I’ll chain you to the next hospital bed._ -

- _Sounds kinky. Don’t make a threat that you won’t back up. Now stop distracting me. York out._ -

North can’t suppress his urge to laugh as relief floods his veins; at least one of his lovers is completely out of harm’s way for a while. Popping up out of cover again he trades a few potshots with the remaining officer before a missile strikes the cruiser, blowing away his opponent and the car in a shower of fire.

“Well isn’t that a pretty sight. All aboard, ladies and gents.” North has never felt so relieved to hear Florida’s voice. Wrapping an arm around Wyoming’s waist, he heaves the man up, supporting him onto the Pelican and strapping him in before ducking into the cockpit.

“Radio the MoI and ask them to have medical on standby. Wyoming’s hurt.”

“Oh dear. That just won’t do. Poor fellow.” The concern in Florida’s voice mixes with something akin to rage, coming out slightly murderous and completely terrifying. North retreats back into the troop bay, slumping into a seat and reflecting on his failure in silence.


	13. Team Breaking Excercises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> York acts like an asshole and puts his foot in his mouth. Wash gets upset. North gives him a lecture and offers him some advice. And in the end, he makes it up his youngest lover in the best way he knows how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap I am so embarrassed about how long this took me. I'd offer up starting a new job as my defense but really there is no excuse to go almost a month between updates. I'll try to be better next time.
> 
> That being said, I'm once again asking for help with the next chapter. We're back to the drinking games and I'd like write a Beer Olympics competition. The catch is they are going to be teams of two. Which means I need drinking games people! Drop your suggestions in the comments or my Tumblr ask box: http://thejokeristhethief.tumblr.com/

The aftermath of the Sarcophagus mission is less than pleasant. Carolina is in a foul mood on the pelican ride home, remaining in the troop bay and glaring at anyone who even tries attempt conversation, something that North and himself have been on the receiving end of several times in the last five minutes alone. York supposes it wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the additional factors that add to the miserable atmosphere of the transport ship; mainly the distinct lack of Maine. Adding to the shitty situation further, Wash has positioned himself in the corner next the rear hatch and hasn’t looked up from his hands since they picked him up sans Maine. York knows that he should feel some sort of worry over his missing teammate but the petty part of him is still miffed about taking a grenade to the face; so hey, Karma’s a real bitch sometimes. Not that he’d ever voice that opinion out loud.

“Karma’s a bitch sometimes.” Oops. The rush from the pain killers his suit’s medical suite pumps into him ruin all chances of him keeping his mouth shut it seems. North’s attention snaps from worriedly watching Wash to focusing on him, no doubt staring incredulously at him through his visor. However, the only acknowledgement, only indication of hearing, that he gets from their younger lover is a slight tightening of his fists and a small shift in weight. His treacherous mouth continues on without his permission, the words dodging any sort of filter as they fall from his tongue. “I mean, I spent a few weeks in medical and now the two people that put me there are injured as well. I guess the world really does have a way of evening itself out.”

CT lets out a quiet snarl, an obvious warning that he needs to stop. And he would, he totally would. Except that he honest to god doesn’t have control of his tongue. What’s more, Wash hasn’t reacted like York needs him to; no sharp words, no derisive snorts, or noises of contempt. Hell, he’d even take the Rookie looking his way. Anything to prove that he’s alive, that he’s alert and listening, that he isn’t in shock or whatever state that someone whose best friend just got horribly injured is in. But no… The steel and yellow clad Freelancer continues to stare at his clenched hands, appearing oblivious to everything else. Maybe it’s the lack of responsiveness that has him saying the next thing he does. At this point York would very much like to find some reasonable explanation as to what the hell is going on with his self control. “But I guess it isn’t really the same, is it. It’s not like Maine used his voice anyway, so as long as they can keep him alive it’ll be fine. And he’ll be able to compensate for anything lacking with text comm and hand signals. But I lost my half my sight; my depth perception and coordination are shot. So it really isn’t all that fair and square, now is it.”

Surprisingly, the verbal slap down he gets is not from any of the usual suspects. Wash doesn’t so much as twitch while North’s posture is rigid and he’s got that tilt to his head that makes York wonder if his lover is considering hitting him. And the person that he fully expects to hit him is gripping her flight restraint bar in cold fury. But no, instead it is the words flying from Florida’s mouth, cutting to the point like throwing knives, that finally, finally causes his mouth to dry up and stop. “How rude. Really now, York, is it absolutely necessary to talk of fallen comrades like that? Have you forgotten your basic manners? Do I need to teach them to you again? Good lord man, where is your sensitivity!?”

He swallows hard at the menace in Florida’s tone, flopping backwards in his seat to block out some of the man’s offended posture as he builds up his retort. He’s about to open his mouth and respond with another quip about the lack of tact South and Wyoming showed when they dropped jokes about fun and games and losing an eye, when an almost inaudible sniffle interrupts him, followed quickly by North faking a sneeze and landing his elbow sharply in York’s ribs as a warning. The purple clad Freelancer sniffles loudly, offering an explanation that nobody really buys but everyone politely accepts. “Sorry guys, must be the dust. Please do continue on with your bitchfest, York. We’d all love to hear more how self centered you feel today.”

In any other scenario, York would probably feel hurt by his lover’s comment, but right now it’s shame the trickles down his spine and ties his stomach up in knots. His entire intention had been to get a rise out of Wash, a reaction, a burst of ferocity or anger, something to prove the youngest Freelancer was still there, still with them. He hadn’t even considered the idea of the younger man being upset enough to cry. Sometimes he forgets how much Wash cares about people how naive and innocent and **young** their weapons specialist really is. He may be used to death, growing up in a refugee colony means being surrounded by it; but York often forgets that although Wash may be desensitized to the death of strangers, he’s never had very many friends to lose. No, the Rookie of Project Freelancer may have seen some horrible shit that York can’t even begin to imagine, but he hasn’t seen it all. And when you add that to the fact that Wash bugged out with the object, putting him too far away to help… Well, York feels like a fucking idiot. Worst boyfriend ever. Of all time, as Wash would say. Except he wouldn’t say that because Wash isn’t as petty as he is.

Of course the man in question takes that moment to let out a wet, shaky laugh. “Oh come on, North. You can’t expect York to be anything but big headed. It’s the only way he can fill a room.”

The joke isn’t remotely funny, and the snark is halfhearted but York can feel the worry he wasn’t one hundred percent aware he had lessening. Beside him, North loses some of his tenseness as well and the general mood in the pelican lightens. CT makes a small sound of relief on his other side and he’s willing to bet that a smile even touches her face when Wash shifts his foot to nudge against North’s. With the anxiety levels on the ship dropping, York relaxes into his seat, keeping his mouth shut for the remainder of the ride.

* * *

The intense energy on the flight home, coupled with the anger and worry that his lovers expressed during the briefing should have prepared him for this. In truth, York had expected one of North’s famous and patronizing lectures. What he did not expect was the cold fury and silence that pervades the locker room past the time it takes for Wash to quickly strip out of his armour and flee into the shower, towel gripped tightly in one hand. The unnerving lack of noise, of yelling, lasts well after the last Freelancer has showered and changed, the seconds stretching into minutes until the shower that his younger lover is occupying shuts off with an echoing click. The slapping of wet feet on the tile of the floor signify his approach, and York watches the hall to the showers attentively, taking a cue from North’s focus.

The freckled man pauses upon entering the main locker area, towel slung low around his hips and left hand in the midst of scrubbing his hair dry. His eyes are red rimmed and wide open, and the whole look screams surprised, almost like a deer in the headlights. He hesitates, and for a moment York thinks he might bolt, before shuffling towards them. North pushes himself to his feet, boots clattering as he moves to meet Wash midway, wrapping him in a careful hug. York watches as the smaller man sighs, collapsing into the embrace despite the discomfort of having North’s armour pressed against his bare skin. Wash looks tiny and breakable when he’s unsuited and engulfed by North like this. The illusion of fragility stretches on when the younger man starts to tremble, shoulders shaking violently with repressed sobs.

“Shh, it’s OK. Everything is going to be OK, love.” North hushes him, peeling off his gauntlets and gloves and dropping them to floor hastily so that he can smooth the trembles out of the other man’s freckled back. York tugs his own hand coverings off before moving from the bench to join them. Slipping behind Wash, he runs his hands over the younger man’s ribs, pushing away the flicker of hurt when his lover tenses and pulls away for a moment before relaxing again with a miserable whimper. North offers another attempt at comfort. “You know how tough Maine is, Wash. He’ll be fine. In fact, I’m sure he’ll be back in no time and kicking your ass for being so upset over this.”

“No he wouldn’t… He’d probably mess up my hair and call me silly.” Wash lets out a sniffle and a watery chuckle, tilting his head to the side when York nuzzles his neck. Taking that as permission, he presses his lips against the junction of his lover’s neck and shoulder affectionately, kissing the tiny cluster of freckles located there. Out of all the freckle groups on Wash’s body, York is pretty sure that this one is number two on his list of favourites, second only to the smattering that decorates the dip of his right hip, perfectly marking one of the few spots that can make his younger lover’s knees buckle. As it is, the soft kiss elicits a gasp, prompting him to press another slightly higher up. Despite letting him continue, Wash still huffs out a distracted question. “Mm, York… What are you - ah - doing?”

“Heh. Comforting you?” He mumbles into skin, lips focused on the spot behind Wash’s jaw and ear. He allows his hands to slide over his lover’s ribs, toying with the edge of the towel as he nips at the tender flesh of the other man’s earlobe. Dipping his fingers under the towel, he traces along the inside of Wash’s thigh teasingly. “Why? Is that a problem, babe?”

Apparently it is, because Wash tears his hands away from the towel before squirming out from between them with an angry growl. “God dammit York, is that all you fucking think about? Can’t you go an entire hour without trying to fuck someone?”

“Wait, what? What just happened?” His eyes track the angry set of Wash’s shoulders and the way he’s clenching and unclenching his fists, warily. North’s snort draws his attention briefly and he takes in the angry set of the taller man’s mouth and the wilting glare being aimed toward him. Great. Just fucking perfect, now he has both lovers mad at him for a reason he doesn’t understand. With a sigh, he reaches a hand forward tentatively, touching Wash’s shoulder carefully. “Wash. Babe, I don’t understand what I did. I mean, you seemed OK with what I was doing before; with the kisses. And how does trying to distract someone I love from unpleasant thoughts equate to me constantly trying to fuck someone. What the fuck? I was thinking about you…”

He lets his hand fall to his side when Wash shrugs it off, words trailing into silence as the exact content of the other man’s angry exclamation registers and causes the hurt to rattle in his chest. Rather than let that hurt show, however, he retreats to his locker without looking at North. If that’s the way Wash sees him then there obviously isn’t anything more to talk about and he certainly isn’t sticking around to get a lecture about personal safety and pushing his limits. Scooping up his gloves and gauntlets, he tugs them on, fastening the pieces of armour and donning his helmet as he heads out the door, ignoring the sharp uttering of his name by North.

* * *

“Oh, hello Agent York.” F.I.L.S.S. greets him with what sounds suspiciously like surprise when he enters the training room. “I did not expect to see you today, as you are not on the schedule for any training. In fact, my records indicate that you should still be in Medical. Are you fully recovered now?”

“Yes I am, F.I.L.S.S. Mind running a level six hand to hand scenario for me please?” He’s pleased to note that the hurt, the frustration, the overall confusion thrumming through his veins isn’t present in his voice when he answers the Project’s AI. Level six might be a little ambitious when he still hasn’t adjusted to his lack of depth perception and is therefore feeling mildly unbalanced but right now York feels the need to push himself. If he doesn’t find a way to focus all of this negative energy before he runs into someone else he might pick a fight and brawling in the halls is generally frowned upon. The holographic targets pop up around him, rotating in varying speeds around him as he drops into his customary crouch. Pushing himself to the balls of his feet, he throws a few experimental punches to test his balance before launching into a barrage of punches and kicks of which only half connect. Cursing, he adjusts his form, angling himself so that his left side is in a protective stance. The position feels strange but it increases the accuracy of his strikes, and before long he’s found a comfortable balance of his old style and something more practical given his blind side.

By the time the last target has turned green, York can feel the familiar burn of adrenaline searing in his muscles. F.I.L.S.S. chimes in with the progress report as York shakes out his muscles, checking for cramping and strain. “There was a 33% decrease in accuracy overall from your last score on this level, Agent York. However, when comparing the last half of each round I am registering only a 14% decline. Given the nature of your most recent injury, these results are above my projected estimates. I believe congratulations are in order.”

“Why thank you, F.I.L.S.S. At least someone appreciates my efforts. Could you please reset the simulation.” York can feel the tiniest smile pulling at his lips when the AI delivers his results. Stretching his triceps and rolling his shoulders a few times, he drops into his new crouch, tweaking his posture until it feels almost natural. “Ready when you are, F.I.L.S.S.”

“Starting simulation in 3, 2, 1, start.” The AI’s response seems playful, almost cheeky. If York didn’t know any better, he’d assume that it - she? - was developing more of a personality daily, and with it, a sense of humor. He only allows himself to dwell on that thought for a moment before spinning into action with surprising grace for a soldier in bulky power armour with only one eye. It takes him significantly less time to light up the last target, and although he knows he isn’t anywhere as fast or accurate as he was before the accident, he feels more confident in his ability to adjust. By the fifth time he’s run the simulation he has dwindled that gap in accuracy down to a mere 11 points. He’s about to ask for another round when the deep, smooth, and quietly annoyed voice of his older lover interrupts him, echoing through the empty training room.

“York. Stop being an idiotic child and avoiding your problems. I believe we need to have a long chat about a few things.” The patronizing tone alone would have York bristling, but the words that back it incense him even further. Fists clenched he stalks towards North, self-control fraying at the edges, only a few tugs away from unraveling completely. He pulls up just short of swinging range, taking in the cock of the taller man’s hip, the loose stance that suggests that while he may not be here for a fight, he is certainly ready for one. The fleeting temptation to lash out, to throw a punch and further test the reach of his new limitations courses through him. Perhaps with this new handicap, North might actually be able to take him. But no, York isn’t willing to risk his relationship just to test out that theory. Maybe they’ll go a few rounds later, when everything has been sorted and neither of them are angry.

Taking a deep, calming breath, York lets it out through his nose slowly before meeting North’s gaze with an inquisitive eyebrow raise and a head nod towards the locker room. His lack of aggression is rewarded with the tiniest amount of stiffness leaking from his lover’s gait as he leads the way, even attempting small talk as Carolina fastens the last of her armour. North heads over to the window displaying the leader board, and York suspects he’s probably grasping for a conversation topic; one that the board evidently provides because he comments on it, turning away to gauge York’s reaction. “List changed again.”

“Yep, lots of things changing these days.” Of course their small talk never stays small talk. North just has to pick a topic that he has a strong opinion on. Opening his locker to avoid looking at the other man, he catches Carolina leaving from the corner of his eye before the shattered visor of his old helmet catches his full attention. Scooping it up, he examines it closely, noting how much worse the damage could have been, before lobbing it in the armour out bin as he continues on this train of thought, delaying his lecture for a moment longer to express some of his concerns about the project. “I think we’ve got more change on the way.”

North takes the bait; obviously he’s been worrying about it as well. York feels a surge of gratitude for the fact he isn’t the only one doubting the project recently. “You feel it, too?”

“Ah, I’ve felt it since Texas showed up.” He paces around the room, aiming to check the hall and showers before letting his mouth get him into more trouble than he already is. Trouble with North and Wash is one thing, trouble with the Director is a whole other can of worms. Venomous alien superworms that can quickly make you disappear. “And when cops and military started shooting, yeah… I find I just keep coming back to the same question in my head, over and over again.”

North has dropped onto the bench while his back was turned and his extremely large hands, hands that York loves, starts to strip the armour off his legs. Obviously he’s decided that they’ll be here for long enough that he might as well strip down and put on his civvies. York has a feeling that even after their little heart to heart, or whatever North want’s to call the chewing out he’s going to give him, he’ll still be showering alone. Not that he’s really in the mood for anything anyway, but he’s gotten so used to one of his lovers washing his hair and he’d really appreciate some help with shaving. Getting around the scars and scabs is going to be tricky. North’s reply pulls him from his musing before he can dwell too much on the future’s problems. “And what question is that?”

Looking towards the showers, he hesitates, contemplating the weight behind his answer and, not for the first time, appreciating the lack of surveillance cameras in the locker room and shower area. “We’re the good guys, right?”

North jumps to his feet in shock, eyes darting around the room before settling on him as he takes a step forward. York can see the concern in his eyes, understands that the fear is for his safety. After all, the words that he just spoke are far beyond his usual toeing of the line, crossing into treasonous territory.There is a question and a warning hidden under the shocked tone in his voice, asking about and cautioning against eavesdroppers. “Yeah, ‘course we are.”

All he can do is turn and meet North’s eyes with a reassuring glance, telling him that he’s checked the area in his pacing. Hopefully his response will register as extra insurance. “Ehh. You don’t sound so sure of yourself.”

“No…” His lover sighs, glancing out the window as South examines the leader board, frustration and anger evident in her stance from miles away. “No I suppose I don’t.”

York watches his lover’s twin storm down the hallway, wincing at the way North tenses up defensively. He briefly wonders whether they’ve had their chat yet. He did spend a good hour and a half in the training room beating down holographic targets, after all. Plenty of time for North to comfort Wash and lecture South. He’s tempted to ask, but there is a fifty percent chance that the question might add more fuel to North’s frustration with him and he’s not sure he’ll be able to withhold his own frustrated anger if that happens. With a sigh, he heads back over to his locker, plopping down on the bench so he can pull the armour off his legs. After a moment, North joins him and they work in silence for a few minutes as they undress. It isn’t until York’s stripped the last of the metal plating from his lower half, stacking it carefully on top of the other pieces that North decides to break the silence.

“You’re being reckless and petty and childish, York.” North’s tone is carefully controlled, words obviously chosen carefully so that they would carry enough bite to get his attention but not enough to make him extremely defensive. The words are artfully punctuated by the sound of North’s pauldrons clattering into his pile, followed by his own as he unbuckles them, adding them to his own stack before standing up to remove his chest plate. If he wasn’t already on edge and anticipating a wave of wrath that he knows his lover is holding back, York probably would have tried to play this one off. As it is, he knows that the moment he treats this situation with any sort of nonchalance the outcome will not be pretty. North rarely loses his temper, but when he does it is a terrifying sight, something he definitely doesn’t want to be caught up in. So he bites back his reply, holding his silence as the other man continues. “The doctor didn’t clear you for combat. Hell, he didn’t even discharge you. You could have died, York! And not only did you put yourself at risk but you also endangered everyone on your team, including Wash. We both know that you aren’t nearly as OK as you are pretending to be. And you most definitely are not up to your usual skill level. I bet your balance is shot and your perception is off. Think, goddammit. What would have happened if your aim had of been a little off and you’d clipped Carolina or Wash? Jesus Christ, you drove like that, too. I’m surprised the entirety of your team didn’t come back with serious injuries.”

York winces when the words sink in. His lover is entirely right; there was a good chance that he could have hurt or killed one of his teammates because his sight is off and he still hasn’t fully adjusted. It’s one of the reasons why he avoided discharging his weapon. The driving, however was completely impromptu, done out of necessity and therefore something he gave very little thought to. He admits this freely to North, giving the man some vindication for his lecture. “The whole freeway thing wasn’t planned and not something I’d repeat if given the chance. But it was necessary, vital to the mission. It was either drive or fight and I’m pretty sure we all agree that it was better for me to drive than to shoot at people who are in close quarter combat with friendlies. Or would you rather I joined the fight and either gotten myself or someone else killed.”

The unimpressed expression on North’s face gradually softens as he explains, until the very last sentence he utters that is. However, the unintended snarky comment that sneaks in at the end has him closing off again, blonde eyebrows slamming back down in a barely seen frown as his forehead wrinkles in distress and what York imagines is mild annoyance. An emotion he feels towards himself at this moment as well. He opens his mouth to apologize but North beats him out, words laced with something akin to disdain. “You really don’t get it, do you? Do you know how afraid we were? How terrified Wash was of losing you? He cried, York. More than just a few sniffles in a Pelican like he just did for Maine. It took me all night to calm him down. I held him for hours as he sobbed with worry over you. And then, like the idiot you are, you go and put yourself in a position that could easily get you killed before you’ve even fully recuperated. Like we needed another distraction, something more to worry about. Sometimes you are the most self-centered asshole I know. And I grew up with South, for fuck sake!”

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” York reaches for North, the full weight of his earlier actions hitting him like a freight train as the taller man shakes in front of him. His thoughts drift to their youngest lover as he pulls North into an embrace resting his head on a trembling shoulder as the other man breathes into his hair. “But I’m OK. I came back safe and sound and in the same state that I left in. Still an asshole.”  
North chuckles into his hair, giving him one final squeeze before shoving him away gently. “Yes you are. But you’re our asshole and we wouldn’t trade you for the world. Although you do owe Wash a major apology. I’d be surprised if he didn’t make you beg for a while. There’s a whole lot of asskissing in your future. And just so you know, I’m not fully forgiving you until he has. Which means no kissing, no cuddling, no sex, no affection of any kind until you make things right. So you better go fix it fast.”

“Yeah. Yeah, OK. I’m just gonna take a quick shower and then I’ll go find him. I’m sure he’s probably in his room worrying over Maine and trying to blame himself for it. That’s what he always does, after all.” Unclipping the last of his armour, he stashes his back piece in his locker before moving the rest of the neatly stacked armour into their regular spots, carefully arranging them in the proper order. He trades the last of it for a towel, sweats and his grifball T-shirt, fishing them out of the disaster that the rest of his locker is in. The configuration is something that baffles and frustrates Wash to no end; the youngest Freelancer doesn’t understand how York chooses to live in a constant state of disarray except for his armour and the lower drawer of his side table where he keeps certain… personal items. He’s tried to explain before how work and pleasure are the two things that one should never fuck around with, but his youngest lover, with his neatly arranged locker and spotless living quarters, doesn’t understand or respect the concept of organized chaos. A hand comes down heavily on his shoulder, startling him from his thoughts and cluing him into the fact that North’s been talking to him. The adrenaline has started to wear off, leaving him aching and spacey. He responds to the gesture with a distracted hum. “Hmm? Sorry, I drifted off somewhere for a bit. What’d you say?”

“I said be good. Don’t fuck this up York. And maybe don’t touch him unless he initiates it or asks you to.” The taller man sighs, squeezing his shoulder softly. “Not everyone is as tactile as you are York. Sometimes you come off as a little much. You have to remember, Wash hasn’t ever had much in the way of comforting. Or affectionate physical contact. If you feel like you need to touch him, hold his hand or offer him a hug. But keep it nonsexual, hands above the waist OK?.”

“OK. Thanks for the tip.” York offers him a small smile before pulling away, intent on a shower. However, halfway across the locker room he falters, turning back to ask one more thing of his lover. “Hey North… can you tell me what I did wrong before? Why did he get so mad at me? I was only trying to make him feel better.”

“I know, love. But sometimes you come off a little strong and not everyone sees sex as a comfort.” North sighs again, a hint of the sadness in his eyes reflecting in the sound. “And given Wash’s background… the fact that he’s been manipulated with sex before… Well, I’m sure you can put it together now. He probably thought you were trying to distract him from the problem and make him feel something other than what he was feeling so you didn’t have to deal with him.”

“Shit.” York groans. If he were close to a wall he’d bang his head against it. But he’s not so he just tips his head back and stares at the ceiling for a minute. “Shit. I am such a fucking asshole. I didn’t even think of that. I really am the worst boyfriend ever. No wonder he’s pissed off at me.”

“He is pretty angry. But it is Wash we’re talking about, York.” North offers him an encouraging smile. “Just apologize. Say you’re sorry. He’ll forgive you. He loves you, after all. God only knows why, but he does.”

York snorts with mild amusement, worry already fading at North’s reassurance. If the older man thinks Wash will forgive him then he’s probably got nothing to worry about. After all, North is pretty good at reading people, far better than he is. “Thanks for the vote of confidence babe. Love you too. See you later, after I’ve wooed my way back into the good graces of our lover.”

North chortles behind him, the sound fixing a grin on his face as the other man’s words follow him down the hallway to the showers. “Just remember to keep your hands to yourself!”

* * *

He spends his shower contemplating how to go about convincing Wash to forgive him. Despite what North suggested earlier, York knows that Wash isn’t nearly as forgiving as he seems. The man can hold a grudge better than anyone he knows while still seemingly forgiving someone. He’d rather not get on the youngest Freelancer’s bad side. And not just because he’d miss the man’s presence and cuddles, but also because having Wash pulling for you in the field is the closest thing to insurance that any Agent can have. The rookie may have a penchant for getting himself into trouble, but he’s the most reliable when you’re looking for someone to watch your six. And while York doubts his lover would ever purposely let anything happen to anyone, he’d rather not risk it. So with a tentative plan forming in his head, York rinses the shampoo out of his hair before stepping out the shower.

Quickly dressing, he runs a bit of gel through his hair, spiking it into his normal hairdo. Heading back to the locker room to drop off his stuff, he pauses for a moment to knock on the only other running shower, poking his head around the curtain to let North know he’s headed out. The shower’s occupant pauses midway through shampooing his hair to raise his eyebrows at York questioningly. Giving him a quick but admiring once over, he offers up a charming smile. “Just wanted to let you know I’m headed over to make things right with Wash. We’ll come find you for dinner. Love you, babe."

“Love you too, idiot. Now go, before he thinks you don’t care and starts to work himself up even more. You know how insecure he gets about us.” Turning his back, North steps under the spray, an action that is clearly dismissal. With a sigh, York forces himself to stop procrastinating, stopping at his locker only briefly to return his towel, undersuit, and the shower caddy Wash gave him last time he raided his locker for shampoo and couldn’t find it. The little basket is just another thing that makes him realize just how much the younger man cares about people. It’s one of the many little things that Wash has done for him without being asked or even expecting a thanks. One day York’s shower items were carelessly scattered throughout his locker and the next they were neatly placed in a portable little wire rack for easy storage and transport.

Closing the locker with a sigh, York reflect on just how much of a dick he really has been towards his lover. The younger man is a surprisingly attentive boyfriend considering he’s so oblivious to the things going on around him the majority of the time. He really should pay more attention to the needs of his smaller lover; it isn’t in Wash’s nature to be upfront and ask, after all. Resolving to make more of an effort to keep his lover happy, he heads down the hall, feet taking him over the familiar path to his lover’s room. He knocks on the door, waiting a few minutes for an answer. When he doesn’t get one he tries again, knocking harder and calling out to him. “Wash, come on man, open the door. It’s York. Please, I need to talk to you. Open up, babe.”

There is some shuffling behind the door and he can hear hushed whispers before the door opens and CT steps out, red rimmed eyes glaring at him as she stalks past. He watches her go for a second before turning his focus to the freckled man leaning against the door frame, staring at him with a less than impressed expressions. York’s eyes widen as he takes in the rumpled t-shirt and exhausted posture of the man before him. He watches as the man runs a hand over his face, tiredness seeping from the small action. His voice is cold and dead, reminding him of the early autumn frosts back home. “What do you want, York? I’m tired and I don’t really have the patience to deal with you right now.”

“You wound me, Wash.” Clutching his chest in a dramatic fashion York pretends to swoon. Unfortunately, the problem of his balance and depth perception once again come into play and he finds himself overbalancing and tumbling backwards. Only Wash’s amazing reflexes save him from a bruised rear, the younger man catching one of his flailing hands and pulling him into the safe warmth of his chest. York remains cuddled up to his savior for a moment as he regains his composure. “Thanks babe. I was definitely going down there so you just saved me from a nasty fall.”

“You’re an idiot.” The words are uttered with so much affection that York can’t even be offended by the fact he’s been called that half a dozen times over the last hour or so. Wash gives him a small squeeze before wiggling out from his embrace and pushing him away with a palm against his chest. “Just because I rescued that amazing ass of yours from some severe bruising doesn’t change the fact that I’m entirely too tired to deal with your bullshit right now, however.”

“Aww, come on Wash, darling, light of my life, my eternal sunshine, the best thing that’s ever happened to me, please hear me out.” He’s aware he’s laying it on a little thick, but the small smile he pulls from Wash’s lips makes it entirely worth the effort. The hand on his chest twitches a little, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “We need to talk, babe. I feel like I’ve missed some important things. And I owe you a huge apology for being a raging douchebag today. Maybe you’ll be able to forgive me? But even if you don’t think you’ll be able to do that right now, I still have to try, OK? So just let me in and we can chat. I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself. No touching unless you want me to.”

“Fine.” Wash sighs, fisting his shirt and dragging him through the open door. Hitting the button on to close it on the way by, he follows willingly enough, even going willingly when his freckled lover shoves him onto the bed. However, when the blonde follows, straddling his lap and grasping twin handfuls of his hair to tilt his head back and kiss him searingly, he hesitates, pulling back carefully.

“Wash? Not that I don’t appreciate this, but what are you doing?” He keeps his hands on the bed, fingers tangling into the scratchy military issued blanket. North said no hands and he did promise Wash he’d keep them to himself unless asked. And since the younger man hasn’t done so yet, he’s not going to break that vow; something that might prove difficult with the way his lover is looking at him. He groans when Wash rolls his hips, pressing their crotches together. A hand travels down his chest tweaking one of his nipples and he almost gives in to his building lust until he sees the unhappiness, the lost look, the utter despair trapped in the brown eyes he loves so much. He rolls them, depositing Wash on the bed beside him and backing off quickly when the blonde advances on him. “Wash, stop. Stop babe. Why are you doing this? What are you doing?”

“I’m giving you what you want. Isn’t this what you came here for?” His voice is empty except for a single catch at the very end. His eyes shimmer with tears before Wash looks away so York won’t see them fall. He catches sight of them anyway, cursing himself for not noticing the miserable state of his lover in the hallway. The young man’s voice wavers, breaking as he voices the next question after the silence stretches into a minute. “Or am I not even good enough for that now? Did you come here to tell me I’m worthless, too?”

“What? No… God no, Wash! I love you. You are one of the most precious things in my life and I would never, ever think you were worthless.” He can’t keep the horrified expression off his face or the anger and shock from making his voice shake. He starts to reach out, to gather Wash to his chest and comfort him before thinking better of it and opening his arms in a welcoming gesture instead. The blonde practically flies into them, face burying itself in his shoulder as the man trembles in his embrace. He runs soothing hands up and down Wash’s spine, voice adapting the same soothing quality he uses when either of his lovers have a nightmare. “Hush babe, it’s OK. You’re safe, I’m safe, and North is safe. Maine is going to be fine, you know? North said so, and North is always right about these things. Whoever told you that you were worthless doesn’t know anything at all. I promise.”

A hiccuping sob wrenches his heart and he desperately wishes he was as good at comforting people as North was. Or that his other lover was here to help. But instead, all he has is himself, so he does the only thing he can think of and gathers Wash tighter into him, scooting them across the bed until he reaches the pillows. Propping one against the wall behind him, he leans against it before rocking Wash back and forth while he utters nonsense words of comfort until the man’s breathing evens out and the trembling stops. When Wash finally lifts his head, untucking his face from York’s shoulder, the brunette leans down to press their foreheads together with a tender smile. “There you are. Feeling better?”

“Mmm, yeah. Sorry.” Wash tilts his chin up to catch him in a chaste kiss before sighing deeply. A hand comes up to scrub at his eyes. “I didn’t mean to be a crybaby. I’m just so exhausted and with everything going on… Well, I guess I’m just a little overwhelmed. But I feel a little better now, so thanks.”

“Anything for you, babe. You know that right?” He pulls away to trace his thumb across Wash’s cheek bone. “I love you. So much. I don’t like it when you’re hurting. And I especially hate it when I’m part of the cause. I was being an insensitive prick on the ride home. For that, I’m truly sorry. It’s no excuse but the suit pumped a few rounds of painkillers into my system and I lost my filter. Plus you were being all quiet and it was worrisome.”

“So you thought you’d instigate a reaction by saying shit you thought I’d freak out from?” Wash scoffs, a mild hint of anger entering his voice although he doesn’t pull away. “I know you have your issues with Maine and I know he hurt you. But Maine is my best friend, York. And I’m worried about him. So you don’t just get to get away with saying something like that and then apologizing. You’re going to have to make it up to me.”

York swallows at the dangerous tone his lover adopts; this is either going to be really good or really awful and embarrassing. Or more likely, it’ll be both. Even so, he’s going to do whatever it takes to make Wash forgive him, even if it means being publicly humiliated. As it is, the blonde man has something better in store for him at the moment, bringing their mouths together in a passionate kiss, pouring all his frustration and pain into it, feeding the mood by shifting in York’s lap until he’s once again straddling him. He immediately drops his hands to grip the blanket, allowing Wash full control of the situation. His lover grinds down, angling his hips and seeking friction. When the kiss finally breaks, leaving them both panting for air, the freckled man leans into him, muttering in his ear breathlessly. “I’m going to fuck you against the wall, OK York? But before I do that, you’ll want to prep yourself for me. Make sure you put on a good show, would you Hun? Don’t want me to get bored.”

“Of course not, babe. I promise I’ll make it so you can’t look away.” His breath catches in surprise when Wash bites down on his neck hard before rolling off his lap to locate the bottle of lube. York uses the time his lover takes to find the bottle to shed his clothing and recline on the bed, spreading his legs wide and bending them so his feet rest flat against the bed in a way that showcases all he has to offer. The lubricant lands on his chest and he quickly pops the top, coating his fingers liberally before reaching his arm under his knee and around his leg to provide Wash with the best view he can. The younger man settles down at the end of the bunk, a predatory look in his eyes as their gazes meet. York winks at him before slowly pushing a single finger into himself, relishing the burn. It’s been awhile since he’s had this type of contact, having to settle for a few quick jerks when the rare opportunities arose during his stay in the medbay. Once his finger is all the way in, he crooks it, searching until he finds the bundle of nerves that makes his hips lift off the bed and a delightful shiver shoot up his spine. Wash moans at the sight, the noise joining York’s whimpers as he teases himself, grinding down on his fingers. The addition of another finger has his lover shucking off his own clothing and taking his cock in hand, stroking it while York stretches himself open. When he twists his fingers, sliding them against his prostate again and letting the moan fall from his lips, Wash breaks his own silence, offering York praise.

“You look so good like that, York. So beautiful when you’re laid out and stretched wide in preparation for my cock.” A blush of desire stains the blonde’s cheeks, highlighting his freckles. He moans in response, pumping his fingers in and out faster at the compliment. “Mmm god yes, fuck yourself faster. Add another finger if you can, I want to see you take three.”

Doing as Wash asks, York adds the third finger, spreading them wide inside of himself before crooking and twisting the digits, keeping the delectable pressure against his prostate for longer than he’d normally do it, keening as his back arches off the bed and his hips buck reflexively. If Wash wants a show York is going to go all out to give him one. Unclenching his free hand from the blankets, he reaches down to grip the base of his cock. It takes all of his self control to not jerk off instead, but he has a promise to keep and he’s not going to come until he’s told he can. That problem handled, he continues to abuse his prostate as he adjusts the pace of his fingers, thrusting hard into himself. Picking his head up off the pillow he meets Wash’s eyes with his own again, offering the man a silent plea. His lover nods once, slowly, before knocking the hand off of his cock and replacing it with his own. The warm callused hand now stroking him along with the press and slide against his prostate has him finishing embarrassingly quick with a cry of Wash’s name. The other man strokes him through it, milking him dry as he removes his fingers, ass completely prepared for his lover’s cock.

“Mmm, good boy York. You put on an excellent show. Now my pleasure begins.” He allows Wash to tug him to his feet and crowd him towards the wall. A hand on the small of his back presses him into it and York has to plant his hands to stop himself from running face first into the metal. “Keep your hands against the wall, Hun.”

York keeps himself loose and relaxed as he feels the tip of Wash’s cock press between his cheeks. The smaller man pushes into him slowly, savoring every millimeter as it slides in. Groaning, he tries to press backwards and hurry up the process. He wants to feel the completeness that being filled offers him but Wash holds him flat against the wall with a strong hand, a gentle reminder of who is in charge of this encounter. York gasps as another fraction of an inch slides in, desperately wishing for his lover to start pounding into him like he was he expecting. However, once Wash is balls deep in his ass, the younger man simply rests his head on York’s back for a moment before setting a brutally slow pace. Resting his head against the wall, he drops his forearms to the metal as well, supporting himself as each hard thrust pushes him forward. The pace continues until he’s fully hard and aching again. He fights the whimpers in his throat until he can’t take it anymore, letting the words fall from his mouth. “Please Wash. Oh - please fuck me faster. You must - ah - being going in- ngh - insane with this pace. I know it’s driving me to the edge and I’ve already come once before. Ah god - just fuck me like we both know you really want to.”

His words are all the encouragement his young lover needs, apparently because the pace adjusts and suddenly Wash is pounding into him in quick, almost desperate thrusts. A hand comes around to squeeze his shaft, stroking him in time to each thrust. Wash’s aim is excellent, as always, and he focuses on hitting York’s prostate again and again causing him to react to the pleasure, tightening around the blonde’s cock. For the second time in a half hour, he comes hard, coating his lover’s hand and the wall. Wash follows him over the edge moments later, pulsing hot and heavy as he finishes balls deep inside of York. It only takes the older man a few minutes to recover before he gently pulls away from the man collapsed against him, feeling some of his juices leaking from his entrance. Turning, he scoops Wash into his arms, carrying him to the bed, ignoring the mess that is now oozing down his inner thigh in favour of getting the spent man settled in bed. Reaching into the top drawer, he pulls out some wet wipes, cleaning both of them up before settling in next to Wash. “Time for a nap, babe?”

“Mm, yes. It is most definitely nap time. Stay with me?” Wash asks, almost as if he expects York to leave the moment he can. Instead of bothering to answer that with an affirmative, he pulls down the blanket, snuggling himself and Wash underneath it and wrapping his arms around his freckled lover. Wash sighs contently. “Good. I love you York. Even if you act like an ass most of the time.”

“Love you too, babe. But get some sleep. Because I think Carolina might have an activity night planned again.” He presses a soft kiss on the top of his blonde head. “Do you want me to call North in here, too? I’m sure he’s probably waiting for the verdict in his own room. We could message him on your datapad.”

“That’d be nice. You should do that. Because I’m pretty sure I’m going to fall asleep now.” The reply has a normal level of Wash cheekiness to it, causing relief to flood his system. Even so, he reaches on to the side table, firing off a quick message to North before drifting off as well. He’s barely conscious when their larger lover crawls into bed, sandwiching Wash between the two of them. He definitely doesn’t catch anything the man says, offering him a sleepy smile before his eyes fall shut and the world turns black.


	14. Beer Olympics and Beatdowns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash has a nightmare, gets comforted by his lovers, wakes up a second time to a treat, has an anxiety attack, participates in a two on two sparring match with Carolina as his partner, fights with York, has a nap, comes to a decision, and kicks ass in the newest team building exercise. All in one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look. I am alive. And updating this. And it isn't even Christmas yet. But in all reality, I am so freaking sorry. Eight weeks is a little long to wait for an update that I promised a month ago. Hopefully the length of this one makes up for it. In other news, I wrote over 10 thousand words this week, so hopefully it is safe to say that my writer's block as fled. *knocks on wood*
> 
> If you have any questions about this fic, or anything else I am currently working on, or you have suggestions or prompts for my weekly smut ficlets (Mondays are smut days on my blog), drop me an ask on my tumblr: http://thejokeristhethief.tumblr.com/

_“God dammit Wash. If this doesn’t make you open your eyes to what the Director is doing then what will? If you won’t admit there is a problem then you sure as hell can’t be part of the solution. And if you aren’t part of the solution then you might as well be part of the problem. Which means you are fucking worthless to me.”_

In his dream Connie’s tone mimics the exact tone that she used earlier, lacking the frustration it possessed over the previous weeks. She sounds utterly defeated, and the memory of it replaying in his dream, makes his chest ache. However, unlike the real time event in which York interrupted before he could really analyze anything, Wash actually has the time to take the words into consideration and it makes his heart shatter. Despite the weight on his chest, despite the pain he feels, and despite the fact this is a dream, Wash feels done; he’s had enough. Washington is done with feelings for today. As if dealing with Maine’s injuries and York’s thoughtless, nasty comments on the Pelican,  followed by their intense make-up session, wasn’t enough for one day. No, now his other best friend - the one person he was supposed to be able to come to for support, the one person who was supposed to trust him enough to share whatever information she had that was making her turn against the project - has started believing him worthless.

Unfortunately, Wash has never really been great at waking himself up without outside stimuli. Meaning, of course, that he is stuck in dreamland, where his mind plays back that scenario, those words, over and over and **over** again until they’re imprinted into the back of his mind and he could probably recite them half asleep without a second thought. Worthless, useless, a problem. Poor, naive little Washington, so willing to blindly follow the Director’s orders. The dumbass rookie who just sat back and let all his friends die. No. Not this time. Maybe he’d be the person in some other life, in some other universe, or at some other time. But two casualties are enough for him. Connie might think he’s been sitting on his hands since their last chat because he isn’t as vocal or obvious about his discontent, but Wash grew up on a refugee colony. He’s seen first hand what happens to those foolish enough to outright oppose the power structure. And while Connie’s methods are brave and somewhat effective, they are also obvious. She might have always been overly curious, always asking questions like an intel agent should, but recently it’s gotten to a level past just plain nosy. And if Wash has started noticing, well… he can guarantee that others have as well. So no, thank you, he’ll keep to guerrilla warfare tactics. Nose down, ears open, flying low under the radar; he isn’t going to get caught, isn’t going to reveal his hand until he’s positive he has the Director down and out. Or until the man goes too far and another person he loves has a brush with death. Usually when his mind comes up with a solution or a plan of action, his body finally relaxes and Wash can fall into a dreamless sleep. But after the events of today, he finds that he is still far too wound up to settle his mind, and it latches on to that last thought, plunging him into a round of nightmares so intense, so realistic, that he forgets he is dreaming.

* * *

Hefting his battle rifle, Wash pauses briefly to examine the red and blue armoured bodies of two simulation troopers, before stepping over them and heading towards his real target. Every step is heavy and slow, like he’s wading through mercury. His heart rate increases alarmingly as he recognizes the armour color before stopping altogether when he notices the unmistakable white accents that point to this body being York’s. His breath catches as he quickly closes the rest of the distance, dropping into a crouch next to the broken body of his lover. He tries to steady his breathing as he examines the damage, attention flickering from the stats his HUD offers to the steadily growing pool of blood and the suspiciously still body. The bio readout on his screen confirms what his eyes have already determined: York is dead.

Rocking forward, he drops to his knees, ignoring the fact that he’s now resting on the blood soaked ground. Anguish rips through him, searing into his veins and mixing with the white hot anger building in him. Struggling for control, he rolls York’s body over, taking in the wounds his lover suffered before dying. His hands hesitate at the clasps to the man’s helmet, struggling with the need to see the face of the person he loved so dearly and the fear that he’ll forever remember him like this. Swallowing hard, he flips the left catch and is about to do the same with the right one when his radio crackles to life with a voice that sounds suspiciously like Four-Seven-Niner. “Come in, Recovery One. Recovery One, this is command. Do you copy?”

“This is Recovery One.” The words seem natural in his mouth, almost like he’s said them dozens of times. He can feel them settling in as he utters them, pushing against his grief, bodying it over and shoving it to the side. An air of cold professionalism takes him over and he is no longer the mourning lover. Instead Wash feels himself being replaced by a loyal, unquestioning soldier, the agent he could be in some other life. “I’ve found Agent York. He’s KIA. Please advise, Command.”

“Recovery One, we require a damage assessment and a full inventory of Agent York’s equipment before it can be decommissioned.” The voice on the other end of the comm sounds bored and almost robotic. If it is Niner, that’s something that Wash can understand. Going from an ace pilot, running high risk drop and extraction operations to operating a comm line in a command center is definitely a downgrade when it comes to excitement. He briefly wonders why she’s doing it. Why does the Director have his top Pelican operator stuck at a desk issuing orders to a “Recovery” agent over a comm-link he isn’t even entirely sure is secure? This whole thing smacks of inefficiency and incompetency. Annoyance settles over him before confusion twitches in his brain and the question falls from his lips.

“Why?” The confusion coating his voice is obvious but the rest of the question gets stuck and comes out garbled, almost as if he hasn’t quite decided what it will be. He tries again, fully intending to question the directive and instead shocking himself. “Why are you making me do this? Why are you making me recover the equipment from my dead lover before I blow up his body? What the fuck is wrong with you people?”

“Recovery One. Agent Washington. If you cannot follow orders then you are of no use to us. Must we provide incentive?” The voice on the comm has changed, and he’s now listening the the oily smooth tone of the Counselor. There is a sound of scuffling in the background and then North is dragged into view, unarmoured and woefully bruised. His ice blue eyes slide over Wash, taking in his appearance and checking for damage, despite his own situation. Once he’s been deemed OK, the other man’s focus shifts, allowing him to take in his surroundings. When his eyes land on York’s body, North freezes for a moment before struggling against his bonds, fighting to get to the still form of their lover. The sound of a pistol being cocked, a bullet sliding home in the chamber of a standard issue M6 has Wash lifting his battle rifle, but he’s too slow. All he can do is watching in horror as a squeeze of the trigger by the PFC in regulation Freelancer armour unloads the chamber into the back of North’s head, execution style. The scream that emanates from his lips is enough to send him jolting upright in bed.

Gasping for breath he hunches over, tears dripping onto the scratchy blanket covering his lap. A disgruntled moan sounds behind him as a pair of tanned arms wrap around his chest, pulling him backwards into a solid wall of muscle. “It’s OK babe, you’re OK. Whatever happened, it was just a dream. North, wake up.”

Twisting in York’s grip, Wash throws his arms around the other man’s neck, tucking his face into into his lover’s shoulder. The circles being traced on his lower back are soothing, distracting him from the horrible images that flash through his memory. A pair of lips press a gentle kiss just below his ear before North’s calm voice infiltrates the crevasses of his mind, chasing out the clinging vestiges of that echoing gunshot and his own terrified scream. “Focus on my voice Wash. Take deep breaths love, you’re having a panic attack. I need you to focus on me, listen to what I’m saying, OK? Count to five slowly. One… Two… Three… Four… Five…”

The instructions are simple, so very simple. So why is that he can’t follow them? Focusing on North’s voice is easy. Counting is fine, too. But the breathing. Well breathing is just so damn hard right now. All he can do is sob into York’s shoulder as his lovers try to comfort him. When it becomes obvious that North’s methods aren’t working, his other lover tries. Hands stroke up and down his back in a steady rhythm, a firm presence that keeps him from delving back into his mind. “Wash, you need to get your breathing under control. Match mine, OK? We’re going to start taking deeper breaths… Yes, like that. Keep going, babe… Just keep breathing with me.”

It takes a while, one long moment filled with York’s steadily deepening breaths and caressing hands to calm down. Several minutes of North’s soft, almost tuneless humming, the occasional kisses his taller lover presses to his neck, shoulders, and hair, and the gentle pressure of his grip on Wash’s waist, before his own breathing becomes even and rhythmic again. There is another pause, another stretch, before the shaking evens out and he finally feels steady enough to lift his face away from York’s neck. The moment he does, the brunette sweeps down and plants a lovingly tender kiss on his lips; the type of kiss that always makes his heart flutter and melt. When they break apart, his lips are immediately claimed and in equally sweet kiss from North, who cradles his face like he’s made of glass. When the second kiss ends, his lovers gently ease him down to the mattress, enveloping him in their arms so that he’s cozily cuddled between them. North, voice still unwaveringly calm, voices their concern carefully. “Wash… Love, can you tell us what happened? Will talking about your nightmare help this time?”

“In it you… you died. Both of you.” His breath catches again and he has to pause and force himself to stay calm. “The Counselor had you killed North. As a punishment for me disobeying orders. Because I couldn’t, I wouldn’t, take care of York’s body. And the most horrific thing about it, the absolute worst part, is that it isn’t nearly as far-fetched as it should be.”

“Yeah… It really isn’t.” York sighs, squeezing him tightly and placing a soft kiss to his temple before continuing. “But babe, we can’t do anything about it right now. We just have to bide our time until we can find a decent out.”

North hums in agreement, fingers running through Wash’s hair comfortingly, before adding his own two cents. “And in the meantime, we’ll just have to be extra careful and keep looking out for each other so we can minimize the casualties.”

“I just…” Wash tries to stifle a yawn as the warmth of his lovers threatens to lull him back to sleep. He’s not done with this conversation yet. “I just don’t want to risk losing either one of you. I love you far too much. I think it’d probably destroy me if I had to do what happened in my dream.”

“We’ll do our best not to let that happen Wash.” North reassures him, fingers still sliding through his hair, coaxing him closer to sleep. “Rest now. You look exhausted.”

Those words reach his ears, settling over him like a spell as he loses the fight and nods off. Sleep claims him quickly, and thankfully this time it’s dreamless.

* * *

“Babe… Babe, wake up... Come on Wash, it’s time to get up.” York’s lips press against his ear, words quietly pulling him from slumber. Moaning, Wash shuffles backwards chasing the heat North’s body offers as the brunette pulls away from his front, leaving him cold. His taller lover tightens his grip reflexively, groaning into his hair when his rear presses backwards, making contact with his groin in the process and brushing against the semi-hardness of his morning wood. His eyes widen when North’s hips snap forward, seeking more friction as his lover lets out a rare and unrestrained moan. York sighs and Wash can see the pout forming on his face. “Damn it guys, I’m hungry! I said it was time to wake up, not time to roll around in the sheets. It’s waffle day.”

Wash snorts, unimpressed at the reasoning he’s offered. Of course York would be passing up sex for waffles. After the thorough fucking he gave the brunette yesterday, he’s not surprised about that. They did miss dinner last night and the other man is bound to be pretty sore, after all. North, it seems, is even less impressed, because York’s words rouse him enough to reply, voice gravelly with sleep. “Too bad. You see sometimes, York, love is putting someone else’s needs before your own. And right now, I need a goddamn blow job.”

That startles a chuckle out of him. The way North delivers that line is just perfect and York’s confused expression at his reaction just makes everything better. Memories of a stuffed cat named Sven and eating raw carrots like reindeer do causes a smile to spread across his face. to add to his amusement, his shorter lover’s voice takes on a tone of incredulity. “Did you just use an ancient children’s movie from Earth to proposition me for a blow job? Did that really just happen?”

“Yep.” North pops the p at the end, smirking over Wash at the other man. “I’m sure Wash could use one too. So if you want breakfast anytime soon, you might want to hurry up. Chop, chop lover.”

“What the fuck? Jesus North, who woke you up on the wrong side of the bed. Stop being an asshole.” York huffs, shooting a fierce glare at their lover. Wash offers him a shrug, eyes wide and pout threatening to develop. The suggestion of a blowjob and his lover’s arousal tight against his ass have been pretty effective at getting him in the mood and that pout that still resides on the brunette’s lips is quite enticing. The other man sighs at his look, resistance caving. “Fine. But only because you two won’t get out of bed or stop whining until you’ve had your fun and I don’t want to miss the waffles.”

“That’s right York, if you can’t say something nice, don’t say nothin’ at all. Instead put that mouth to use doing something far more pleasurable.” York pauses in the middle of shuffling closer, eyebrows raised in bafflement as his gaze softens into a confused stare. North chuckles, a sensation that travels through Wash’s back, causing his desire to stir further despite his lover’s grip loosening around him. “Come on love, don’t just stare. Life’s not a spectator sport. If watchin’ is all you’re gonna do, then you’re gonna watch your life go by without ya. Including those delicious waffles.”

The threat of missing out on waffles gets York moving again and he finds himself being manhandled away from North and onto his back, spreading his legs when the brunette nudges them apart and allowing him settle in comfortably, his arms propping him up on either side of Wash’s hips. Their taller lover shifts beside them, rolling onto his side and he shudders when the other blonde’s eyes rake over his body appreciatively for a moment before focusing on the man between his legs. York must take the attention as permission, because in one swift movement his cock is enveloped, tip brushing the back of his lover’s throat. An embarrassingly loud whimper rips itself from his throat before North leans in to capture his lips. One of his hands comes up to cup the back of his lover’s blonde hair, pulling him down to deepen the kiss, while the other tangles in York’s hair, tugging the brown locks sharply in encouragement and causing the man to moan around his shaft.

Completely engrossed in stimulation his lovers are showering him with, Wash misses whatever action York is performing that has North gasping into his mouth and biting down on his lip. He does, however, catch the flick and twist of the brunettes tongue as it drags across the head of his prick. If it weren’t for the firm presence of York’s arms pressing down on his thighs, he’d be arching off the bed to chase that feeling. However, with their positions as they are, all he can do is let out a wrecked moan and pull away from North’s lips to offer praises, grip on York’s hair tightening in the process. “Ohhh fuck, York. Oh god that feels amazing. Mmm - when did you - ah holy hell - get so good at blowjobs?”

York hums around him briefly before dragging his lips off of him with a pop. His grey eyed gaze meets Wash’s before darting over to North’s, a smirk gracing his lips before a playful and cocky answer falls from his lips. “Wellll that’d be right around the time I realized I’d have to do something to keep you from straying too far. Being able to blow your mind with my cocksucking abilities seemed like the perfect solution. Can’t leave me if you can’t walk.”

The wink he’s offered with those words, along with the calloused hand sliding up Wash’s shaft steals his breath away for a moment and before he can regain it enough to respond, York’s mouth descends over North’s impressively hard length, once again robbing him of the ability to speak. The sight is just too incredible, too delicious, too sinful, to ruin with words, so instead he watches with rapt fascination as the brunette’s mouth slides along their lover’s shaft, occasionally altering his pace or pausing to lap at the precome leaking from the broad head of North’s cock. York’s mouth works magic, tongue stroking and cheeks hollowing, at the same time his hand slides up Wash’s member and with a flick of his wrist and sharp suck, the man drags twin moans from them. Gaze snapping up to focus on North’s face, Wash takes in the way his eyelids are fluttering and teeth are pulling at his bottom lip. The blonde is close, he can tell. Tugging him back down, he seals their mouths together in a sloppy kiss, trading moans as York teases their orgasms from them.

North’s climax crashes over him first and the larger man bites down on Wash’s lip briefly before letting out a soft, satisfied sigh and slumping backwards. Directing his focus back to York, Wash lets out a low moan as he watches the brunette swallow before that gorgeous mouth goes back to work, lips returning to the tip of his cock, sucking hard as his hand works the rest. It doesn’t take him long to fall over the edge, coming hard into his lover’s mouth as he presses up off the mattress as far as the weight over his hips will let him. York meets his eyes again before swallowing his seed, a dribble of it leaking from the corner of his mouth. That detail doesn’t go unnoticed with North either, it seems; the taller of his two lovers tugs York up, tongue swiping away the leftover mess before capturing the brunettes mouth in a deep kiss. When they break apart, North teases him quietly. “Tastes good doesn’t it?”

“Well, you know me. If I don’t love it, I don’t swallow.” The smirk is audible as York responds, offering North a taste of his own game. Wash snorts. He may not be an expert when it comes to the children’s movies of Old Earth, but even he can identify that as a quote. “Don’t tell me that wasn’t a damn good blowjob. You know I play aggressive. Who has time to be timid these days? No, you must be bold and daring to get anywhere in life. And I suppose that for every job that must be done there is an element of fun. Which in this case, would be listening to the sounds Wash makes. Because babe, they are utterly delectable.”

“See York! When you venture outside your comfort zone the rewards are worth it.” North winks, hands already ushering York towards the edge of the bed. “Now let’s get dressed and hit the mess for some waffles. After all, the only way you get what you want is through hard work, and I’d say you earned a reward or two.”

This time the groan he lets out is joined by York’s. Hoisting himself into sitting position, Wash tosses his legs off the side of the bed, moving to gather his clothing as he reprimands North. “OK, enough of the Disney quotes. We get it. You enjoy corrupting innocence. My memories of those movies will never be clean again. Not that I’ve seen most of them anyway. But seriously, just stop already. I feel filthy just listening to the two of you.”

“Not my fault! I made sure you were clean. If you weren’t such a dirty little sex addict then you probably wouldn’t have that problem. Sheesh Wash, learn some control.” The cheekiness of that statement has Wash tripping over his pants in an effort to hit York. The brunette dodges, catching him easily when he starts to fall. “Next time you should try pulling those up all the way before moving. Just a suggestion. Ready for waffles?”

“You’re insufferable.” North chuckles from behind them, dropping a quick kiss to Wash’s shoulder before offering him his shirt. “Don’t listen to him, Wash. In fact, I’d prefer it if you had less control. Need someone who will keep up with me, seeing as York obviously can’t handle all of this. Perhaps we should work on his stamina?”

“Waffles first, stamina later.” York calls over his shoulder, already striding out of Wash’s room in the direction of the mess. Pulling his shirt on, Wash offers North a shrug before joining the taller blonde in the trek to breakfast.

* * *

The morning, including breakfast, passes by quietly with no mishaps in training. Wash’s normal schedule generally puts him in heavy weapons simulations at the same time North has target practice in the sniper range and York runs locks. In fact, most of the agents run their specialty training sessions at the same time, frees up more opportunities and opponents for one-on-one matches or team battles. Something Carolina takes full advantage of on most days, arranging matches with whomever she feels needs to be taught a lesson in humility that week, or team sessions to stimulate a little friendly competition and provide a bit of a challenge for herself. Needless to say, their morning schedules generally have them in solo training sessions unless it’s a special occasion.

So when York’s voice practically purrs in his ear halfway through the level 9 RPG scenario he’s working through, it understandably throws him off considerably, sending the simulated RPG bouncing off the holographic road and blowing a hole into the side of a building several stories tall and causing it to collapse into the neighbouring skyscraper in a cloud of dust and glass. Growling in frustration, he stares at the mildly impressive amount of damage the stray shot did to the simulated world in disgust. The simulation was going so well this time around, and then York has to go and ruin it with his distracting and mildly sexual comments. After surveying the scene one last time and designating it unsalvageable, Wash sighs. “F.I.L.S.S please end the simulation. It’s botched again.”

“Ending RPG scenario 9. That was your 5th attempt at this particular level, Agent Washington. Is there anything I can do to assist you? Perhaps you would like me to replay a few of the previously recorded sessions so that you can review them and pinpoint your errors?” The ship’s VI sounds almost sympathetic in her offer to help and for a moment Wash considers taking her up on the suggestion. But with York watching, he doubts he’ll be able to focus enough to pass it regardless. F.I.L.S.S picks up on his reluctance. “Shall I run a different simulation then, Agent Washington?”

“Yeah. Can you reset for battle rifle simulation 12, please? I think I’m done with things that go boom for today.” The VI follows the command quickly, bringing up the weapons table at the far end of the hall and using the holo-projector to create an intricate maze of urban sprawl so similar to the setting of their previous mission that tension gathers in his chest and he finds himself short of breath. A medical alert goes off when his vitals spike, the VI calling for assistance through the internal communication system as his head spins with the lack of oxygen. He’s dimly aware of York canceling the emergency alert, brushing it off as equipment malfunction as his helmet is eased off his head. Those familiarly calloused hands, the same ones that were doing incredible things to him this morning, cup his face gently, tilting his head back until he’s meeting the gaze of that worried grey eye. Thumbs stroke his cheeks in a steady, calming rhythm as he struggles to control his breathing.

“That’s it Wash, deep breaths. Nice and slow. You’re OK. I’m right here, not going anywhere.” York’s voice is calm, soothing his frayed nerves the same way the frequent brushes of skin over his cheeks do. It takes considerably less time for the attack to pass and his breathing to regulate than usual. Once his lover seems content that he is going to come out of it, the man puts some distance between them, voice staying low and calm. “Babe, you have got to stop with the panic attacks. I know you’re worried about Maine and stressed out about whatever the fuck it is that is happening between you and CT, but if you continue to have these episodes, the Director is going to notice. And I’m not sure that he wouldn’t get rid you for something like that. Especially when an urban warfare setting is the most recent trigger.”

“I know. I know. But it isn’t that easy. If it was as easy as saying ‘I can’t do this right now, this can’t happen here’ don’t you think I would do that all the time?” Wash can’t help the snappish quality his voice adapts in response. Chest heaving from the effort of regaining his breath, he continues. “Even if I know I’m being ridiculous, I can’t control when it happens York. Do you think I like having anxiety attacks, especially in public places? Of course I don’t!”

“OK, it’s OK Wash. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” York soothes him again, one of his hands dropping down to find his and squeeze, despite the power armour muting the sensation. His thumb resumes stroking across Wash’s cheek for a moment before the brunette leans in, touching their foreheads together. “I just can’t stand the idea of losing you. You aren’t the only one who has nightmares about losing the people he loves, babe. And in case you haven’t noticed, accidents have become a frequent occurance around here. So please, Wash, please tell me how I can help. What can we do to keep you grounded and help you cope?”

York’s words tear at him painfully and he takes a moment to focus on his lover, really take in his appearance. The brunette kneeling in front of him looks so worn and tired, his face drawn and pale, newly healed scar tissue standing out red and angry and contrasting heavily with the tired circles under his eyes. York looks like he hasn’t slept in days and Wash can see his exhaustion mirrored back at him when he meets his lover’s gaze. Taking a deep breath, he lets it out slowly, releasing the tension in his body before answering. “You just being here helps a lot. North too. When one of you is present and I have someone to focus on I tend to come back to myself quicker. Counting helps too, or rhythmic motions like the way your thumb was moving. Anything that can steal my attention away. Distractions, really. I swear they don’t normally come this often. There has just been a lot of bad things happening recently.”

“I know, babe. And I know you’re worried about us.” York sighs softly, his breath ghosting along Wash’s lips making them tingle with the desire to lean forward and kiss him. The only thing stopping him from doing so is the fact they’re in a public training room and already in far too intimate of a position already. With a small sigh of his own, he pulls away reluctantly, smiling when York groans in disappointment. Squeezing his hand gently, the brunette releases him, getting to his feet. “Anyway, my reason for being here was not because I wanted to cause you issues with your training. I just thought I’d come by and give you a heads up that ‘Lina wants a two on two and she claims you as her partner. Something about wanting to win later and how the loser sets up for tonight’s team building exercise. I guess it’s a team thing tonight.”

“Ugh, I hate team sparring matches. You guys always wipe the floor with me and Carolina get’s the ‘you are such a disappointment, what are you even doing?’ tone. It’s painful.” Wash grumbles lightheartedly, collecting his helmet and placing it back on his head. York grins at him before donning his as well. Wash lets him lead the way out, calling back to the VI as they exit the room. “F.I.L.S.S please end my session. We’ll have to revisit the RPG Scenario 9 some other day.”

“Affirmative Agent Washington. I’m sure you’ll improve next time, when you have less to distract you.” Wash blinks in shock; F.I.L.S.S’ response sounds mildly threatening despite the usual chipper tone she uses to deliver it. It takes all of his willpower not to shudder at the implications hidden in those words. If the Director is truly implementing elimination scenarios as part of his so-called selection process, then things could get damn dicey pretty quickly. York seems to think so too, because when they get far enough from the training room his helmet comes off again before reaching over to pull Wash’s off.

“That was a veiled threat if I’ve ever heard one.” The brunette mutters voice pitched low enough that the normal hum of the ship drowns out any possibility of being overheard. “I think maybe it’s time to start looking into that exit plan. I don’t like the sounds of that.”

“Should F.I.L.S.S even be able to do that? I swear she grows more and more human everyday. She gets sassy with me every time I screw up on that level.” Wash sighs, glancing at the central leaderboard as they head into the main training room. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. The point is, when an Artificial or Virtual Intelligence starts uttering threats, you should probably pay attention to them. Let’s take it as a warning and start planning an extraction plan.”

“Agreed. We’ll fill North in after whatever event is planned tonight. But right now, you should probably focus on not getting beaten too badly.” York tosses him a smirk before pulling his helmet back on. Shrugging, Wash offers him a half smile before doing the same. York gives him one last taunt as they part to join their teammates. “Good luck Rookie. Try not to let us wipe the floor with you this time.”

Flipping him off, Wash falls in step beside Carolina, rolling his shoulders to loosen them as she shakes out her fists, bouncing lightly on her feet. Stretching out his limbs carefully, he makes sure his muscles are ready for the pounding they’re about to receive. Even in power armour, hand to hand leaves him sore and cranky without the proper stretching. Actually, close quarters combat generally leaves him sore, with or without the stretching, especially against York. Neither of his lovers go easy on him on the mat. Not that he’d expect them to, really. In fact, he’d probably be offended if they did. Cracking his neck, Wash turns to his partner. “Ready to go Boss?”

“I’m always ready.” Carolina tilts her head at him, helmet angled in a way that makes her look like she’s grinning dangerously. “Really, I should be asking you something similar though, Washington. Are you ready to win?”

“It’d be nice to have something to hold over their heads. You might have to give me a boost though, North’s pretty fucking tall.” Across the room North snorts, amused by their attempt at shit-talking. Wash smirks under his helmet; if his lover finds that amusing then he’ll just have to up the effort a little and go after York instead. “Shouldn’t have a problem holding it over York’s head though. He’s more comfortable on his knees anyway.”

The sound of North choking on his spit is almost as satisfying as York’s indignant squawk. However, the icing on the cake is the low chuckle his comment pulls from Carolina. He isn’t sure whether the woman knows of their relationship, but if she doesn’t his tone is innocent enough that it won’t give anything away. Her response doesn’t provide any insight either, tone teasing as she picks on York as well, although he supposes she probably doesn’t care as long as it doesn’t interfere with their work. “York has always spent an abnormal amount of time peering through keyholes. That is a pretty low line of work. Then again, he’s always been beneath me.”

“Owch, Carolina. You wound me. That cuts really deep.” York clutches his chest dramatically as the four of them approach the large square of mats laid out on the floor. “The two of you could make it sound less creepy. I’m an infiltration specialist. Picking locks is a perfectly respectable skill when you’re in my line of work. Stop making it sound so crass.”

North chuckles and Wash curses internally. He was hoping it’d take his taller lover a bit longer to recover. Maybe then he would stand a bit more of a chance. As it is, he braces himself, shifting his weight to his back foot as North and York move in tandem, spinning into action. Throwing up a block, he deflects the purple clad Freelancer’s right jab, sidestepping the follow-up left cross and countering with a quick snap kick that catches North off-guard. From there he loses himself in a chain of blows and counters. His lover keeps up with him easily, blocking the majority of his blows and letting the most harmless of them land, waiting for Wash to leave a big enough opening to take over. Sure enough, he slips up, punch arching wider than he intended it to, and within moments North is sweeping his feet out from under him dropping him to the mat hard. The larger man follows him down, using his size to pin him against the mat. Squirming in the sniper’s hold, he attempts to free himself. His struggling allows him to free a leg and after a few moments of grappling he manages to position himself so that he has enough leverage to flip them, rolling them into an arm bar for a moment before the other man breaks it and he rolls away, offering North a quick elbow to the side on his way.

As he springs to his feet, mirroring North’s actions, he catches sight of his partner’s situation. Watching Carolina and York spar is a thing of beauty. They dance between blows, Carolina throwing punches in series of three and York blocking and countering the majority of them before offering his own volley, never dropping out his stance. Wash’s eyes widen when he takes in the way the brunette holds himself; his stance has changed from the last time he’s seen the man train, becoming more defensive of his left side. Although, he supposes that does make sense as York would have to make sure his left is well protected from surprise attacks. Taking in their fight drives him far enough to distraction that he almost forgets his own fight until he feels a hand clamp down on his wrist, twisting his arm behind his back painfully. “Pay attention Wash. As interesting as they are to watch, you have your own fight to attend to. And I don’t enjoy being ignored.”

Groaning at the pressure the position puts on his shoulder, Wash pushes himself onto his toes before slumping backwards, letting North take all of his weight. The tactic causes pain to shoot through his arm but it takes his opponent by surprise. Adding to the confusion, he slams his foot down on the purple covered left foot, removing himself from North’s grasp before the shock wears off. Taking advantage of North’s disorientation, he sweeps the taller man’s feet out from under him this time, using his weight against him and dropping down to throw a few body blows on him. It doesn’t take his lover long to recover, however, and within moments Wash is flying over North’s head, landing next to a grappling Carolina and York.

Carolina seems to be winning their tussle for the moment, but neither of them are particularly great with floor work. Wash takes a moment to watch, catching his breath and allowing North to do the same. The sniper lets out a dangerous growl, however, as they continue struggling, Carolina just barely keeping the upper hand, despite her superior skill. York’s hands slip from her grip, lingering on her hips for a moment, a few seconds longer than absolutely necessary before she twists, sending them rolling. The tan clad Freelancer raises his fists to lay down a series of blows, Carolina’s arms already coming up to block, when suddenly a fist catches him in the back of the head, sending him crashing forward hard enough to slam into his opponent’s block. She rolls him again, slamming a fist into his side and pushing all the air from his lungs.

Wash takes in the scene disbelievingly as Carolina’s visor meets North’s. “What the hell was that? York was supposed to be on your team North.”

“Oops. I slipped.” The nonchalance in North’s voice suggests anything but remorse. His stance screams mildly pissed off, meaning his possessive streak probably flared up when York took the opportunity to touch Carolina for longer than he had to. Wash understands, shares his jealousy in this instance, as well as the smug satisfaction that York is going to have a headache after a blow like that. “My bad York, my hand went somewhere it wasn’t supposed to. It won’t happen again though.”

“Fuck. Jesus man. We have to work on that.” York groans, shaking his head. Wash can practically see the pout in the entirety of his body language. “Looks like team CarWash won.”

“CarWash? Really York?” Wash huffs, minorly annoyed with the childishness his older lovers seem intent on displaying right now. Between fits of jealousy from North and York’s inability to lose gracefully, he’s not sure which one is worse. “Too bad North didn’t knock some sense into you with his stray punch.”

Carolina and North both snort but she gets her statement in first. “I don’t think York has the ability to absorb sense. He’s going to be forever immature and nonsensical.”

North mutters his agreement quietly as York huffs in annoyance. Wash ignores them both, heaving himself to his feet. “Looks like we won, Boss. Not that I had much of a hand in it or anything.”

“Eh, you held your own for a while there, Wash.” North offers, hand patting his shoulder in a consoling gesture. “You’re improving at least.”

Carolina shrugs. “You almost lasted the whole match this time, so that’s definitely an improvement. Maybe next time you’ll make it to the end.”

Wash feels a brief mix of disappointment and shame curling in his stomach at her words before he shakes it off, offering her a shrug of his own. “At least I didn’t end up with a concussion or any broken bones this time?”

“There is that, I suppose. Besides, you’re my partner for team building tonight, so you’ll definitely be able to make up for it.” The teasing note in her voice eases the sick feeling in his stomach slightly. She turns her gaze on North and York next. “Speaking of team building, get changed and the two of you should report to the recreation room so we can set up. Wash, go do whatever it is that you do when you aren’t busy.”

Knowing dismissal when he hears it, Wash retreats to the locker room, North and York following along behind him. Neither man seems happy with the other, and he has a feeling this might be a mildly uncomfortable situation to change in.

* * *

Silence reigns as they strip off their gear, disturbed only by the sounds of armour clinking against armour as pieces are taken off and discarded carefully in lockers. York’s attempt at conversation continuously fails with North shooting him down in grunts or glares. Finally the brunette gives up, turning his back on them to focus on his leg armour, top half already stripped and undersuit peeled down to his waist, muttering about how unreasonable the other man is being. Wash watches with an increasing sense of panic; York and North never really fight like this. Their taller lover never hesitates to put either of them in their place when they do something stupid, especially something as ridiculously pointless as lingering touches in full power armour. But he isn’t about to point that out. No fucking way is he that stupid. The doghouse isn’t big enough for both of them. So instead he focuses on removing his gear, something he can claim being the best at out of the squad, as if that is anything to be proud of. Sighing, he stacks his armour carefully in his preferred order, quietly willing North to say something. Instead, the silence continues.

Carolina follows them into the locker room a few minutes later, pausing to take in their various states of undress. Wash can feel his ears burn as her eyes sweep over him appraisingly before doing the same to North. His blonde lover stiffens beside him as her examination continues onto York, eyes lingering over of his naked back, taking in the way the tanned skin stretches tightly over his muscles as the brunette struggles to remove his left greave. North shifts uncomfortably, distress written plainly on his face; Carolina doesn’t often show interest in York, but on those rare occasions that she does flirt back the brunette disappears for a few hours and comes back ridiculously giddy. But that was before they started dating, so Wash doubts it will happen again. York may be a flirt, but there is no doubt in his mind that his lover would even consider cheating on them. But that doesn’t stop his taller lover from looking murderous and worried, a strange combination of facial expressions, especially on North. Purposely dropping his bracer in the noisiest way possible, he casually comments on Carolina’s presence. Or tries to. What comes out instead sounds bitter enough to make even North wince, his attempt at a joke echoing emptily in his ears. “Having problems getting out of your armour, York? I’m sure ‘Lina can help you with that. She already stripped you of your dignity and senses, why not your clothes too?”

York’s head snaps up and around so fast that he can’t help comparing him to that famous ancient horror movie about possession, the one where the chicks head twists unnaturally far. His eyes widen, darting from Wash’s carefully neutral expression to North’s thunderous face before settling on the faint blush coating Carolina’s cheeks. Rolling his shoulders, the half-naked infiltration specialist straightens, choosing his words carefully in an effort to brush off the situation. “Did you need something, ‘Lina? Or are you just enjoying the show? Because I gotta say, normally I charge for these kinds of things.”

The way the last line is delivered has a surprising effect on North, causing some of the tension to leak from his shoulders. Obviously York’s decision to turn it into a joke rather than an opportunity to flirt is the right one for everybody, and the level of intensity drops further when Carolina replies. “The ink is pretty, but the canvass could use some work. Hasn’t anyone ever taught you how to shut your mouth? You ruin the beauty of things every time that big trap of yours opens and spouts off something ridiculous like that. At this rate I’ll be offering to pay you to put your clothes back on. Idiot.”

North snorts in agreement before adding to Carolina’s scathing comments. “Maybe we should just use the money you’d spend to buy a roll of duct tape and gag him. You know what they say, ‘silence is golden but duct tape is silver.’”

“Or you could just stop listening when he talks. That’s what I do.” Wash chimes in quietly, placing the last piece of armour in his locker and reaching over his shoulder to release the pressure seal on his suit. Peeling himself out of the Kevlar and neoprene always sucks; the suit may be self cleaning but that doesn’t mean he feels any less gross when he strips it off. Tugging his arms free, he lets the upper part of the suit fall to his waist before digging out a towel and his shower stuff. Shimmying the suit past his hips, he wraps a towel around his lower half before tugging it off the rest of the way, followed quickly by his underwear.

York makes a soft hurt sound from behind him. “Aww… You don’t mean that do you, Wash? You listen to me when I talk right? I always listen to you when you talk. Even when it’s about dumb things half the time.”

And OK yeah, he’s officially over this whole situation now. If his lovers wanna be snippy little bitches because of some stupid jealousy issue then that is their prerogative. He’s done with this catty bullshit, thank you very much. Scooping up his shower stuff he stalks down the hallway, ignoring the rest of the conversation. He almost makes it to the shower too, before a hand clamps down on his wrist, tugging and causing his momentum to spin him around and slam into York’s chest. Despite the concern he sees in the other man’s face, he can’t help rolling his eyes at the wink and cheesy flirting that follows. “Hey there, gorgeous. I can see you’re already falling for me, but let’s not overdo it.”

“What do you want, York.” Wash allows the annoyance to seep into his tone as he reluctantly pulls away from the warmth and comfort his lover’s body offers. “I don’t have anything stupid to talk about right now and I’d much rather be in the shower than listen to your ridiculous lines.”

“Whoa OK. Sorry for being concerned enough to follow you.” York drops his grip, hands coming up defensively as the man shuffles back a few steps to put some space between them. “Apparently I just can’t do anything right today. So I’m going to leave you alone now. See you later I guess.”

Wash feels a twinge of regret at the dejected slump to York’s shoulders as he watches him shuffle back towards the locker room, suit still tied around his waist. Regret that is quickly stomped out when he remembers the reason he rejected his lover’s approach in the first place. Stepping into a stall, he hangs up his towel before flipping the shower on hot enough to be considered scalding and easing his way under the spray. He allows himself a full ten minutes of relaxation under the pounding hot water before beginning the process of getting clean, silently thanking the Director and the ships grey water filtering system for providing the crew with almost endless hot water. Closing his eyes, Wash relaxes into the comfortable rhythm of getting clean.

* * *

Freshly showered and wearing a pillaged pair of York’s sweats and a soft, worn down tee stolen from the back of North’s locker underneath his favourite hoodie with the cat ears that Connie always calls him a dork for wearing, Wash heads to the mess for some food. Snagging a turkey sandwich, an apple, and a bottle of water, he heads back to his bunk; socializing with people seems extremely unappealing to him in this particular moment. He’d much rather eat in solitude and then have a long nap before whatever alcohol saturated team building experience Carolina has lined up for them.

Halfway to his room he has to stop, pushing himself carefully into an alcove as Connie’s voice echoes softly in the hall. No doubt she is talking to her outside contacts again, passing them information on Freelancer. Wash understands why she chose this particular hallway at this particular time, as it is usually completely empty. He just wishes he hadn’t chosen to take the long way to his room in order to avoid human interaction. Now his only two choices are to interrupt her again, and risk another one of her scathing comments, no doubt leading into another fight similar to the one they had yesterday. Or he could stay here, finish off his lunch and hope to hell she doesn’t find him when she’s done. He could make a big show of debating the pros and cons of each option but really there isn’t much of a contest. Regardless, the decision is taken from his hands when he hears Connie finishing up her call. “I have to go. I’m not ready to leave. Not yet, not without them. I’m not leaving my friends behind to die.”

Wash can feel his heart clench at that statement. The fact that, despite all their recent arguments and harsh words, Connie still cares enough to risk taking more time and getting caught rather than abandoning him gives him some hope that not all chances for working together are lost. Maybe if he approaches her with his concerns she’ll see that he isn’t just burying his head in the sand. But no, the way that she is handling things, the overt disregard for necessary secrecy and her own safety still makes him wary of joining forces. As much as he trusts her, he can’t risk exposing his hand before he’s ready to play, especially not with such a dangerous game like this.

Tucking himself as far into the alcove as he can, he leans against the wall, holding his breath as she goes by, infinitely glad that she isn’t wearing her helmet as her HUD might give away his position. Once he’s sure she’s gone, he darts out of his hiding place, ducking around the corner and heading down the next hall to the living quarters. Punching the passcode into his door, he steps inside, allowing it to slide shut behind him before collapsing against the cool metal. He stays there, leaning against the solid support that separates him from the problems outside, as he eats his lunch. When the last bite of his apple has been taken, Wash drops the core in the garbage can before striding across the room to collapse onto his bed. Curling up around the extra pillow, he buries his face in it, snuggling in as he allows himself to drift off, exhaustion setting in after last night’s terrible sleep.

* * *

“Wash.” A gentle hand shaking his shoulder wakes him up hours later, North’s soft voice coaxes him from sleep. Yawning, he resists for a moment, burrowing further into the pillow he’s clutching tightly. North chuckles, running a hand through his hair a few times. “Love, you need to get up. It’s time for dinner and you don’t want to participate in this team building thing on an empty stomach, trust me. I think it’s burger night and York said he’d grab both of us a plate. Don’t make me take your pillow.”

“Mmm, noo.” Wash groans, before letting North roll him onto his back, smiling when the taller blonde places a soft, sweet kiss to his lips. That smile fades into a frown when he remembers events from earlier today. “Is he mad at me? I mean I was pretty annoyed with him earlier but I also wasn’t very nice.”

“He isn’t mad. A bit hurt and frustrated, maybe. But not mad.” North sighs fingers caressing Wash’s cheek. “Today wasn’t exactly a high point in our relationship. We’ve all got things to work on. But the important thing is that we know that and we continue to make progress, right?”

“True. As long as you know that I love you, even if you do get annoyingly possessive and York gets flirty or says nasty things.” Wash sighs, pushing himself upright. “Does he really think the things I always talk about are stupid?”

“I don’t know love. You’ll have to ask him that. But Wash, I don’t think the things you talk about are stupid.” North pulls him into a hug, kissing the top of his head comfortingly. “Sometimes we talk about silly things, but the things that you’re serious about aren’t stupid. Simply because you care about them.”

Those words settle comfortably into his chest, warming him from the inside out. Pressing a kiss to North’s neck, Wash squeezes him tightly before releasing him and rolling off the bed fully. “We better not leave him alone for too long. I’d hate for him to get lonely.”

North smiles, accepting the hand Wash offers him, coming easily when the shorter man pulls him to his feet. Throwing his arms around the taller man’s neck, he gives him a proper, lingering kiss before releasing him so they can head off to the mess hall. North collects his hand holding it for a moment as the move into the hallway. “Nice sweats, Wash. They look a little big on you. Same with the shirt hanging out of the bottom of your hoodie. Did you miss us enough that you had to plunder our clothes?”

“York’s pants are comfy and long enough to fully cover my feet. And this shirt is soft and it smells like you.” Wash can feel the blush staining his cheeks at that confession and he refuses to meet North’s gaze. His lover squeezes his hand gently before untangling their fingers and removing his hand from his grip. Their hands drop to their sides, close enough so that their pinky fingers brush against each other’s as they walk. “Sorry.. I’ll give it back tonight when I take it off before bed.”

“It’s OK, Wash.” Hi’s voice drops into the deep tone he only uses when North is expressing his desire. “I think you look amazing in my clothes. Albeit, you’d look better in nothing but that shirt, but I’d rather not share that view with everyone so I’ll wait for later. You can model it for York and I tonight.”

“I think I can do that.” Wash agrees easily enough, offering North a shy smile before they push through the doors of the mess. York is sitting in their usual spot, poking dejectedly at his burger, salad already eaten. They trade looks, his eyebrows rising as North offers him a shrug before plopping down across from their lover. The brunette perks up immediately, glancing up at Wash with a nervous smile before patting the seat next to him. That smile loses some of its nervousness when he slides into the offered seat without hesitation, pressing their legs together.

“I got both of you chicken burgers because there wasn’t any of those disgusting veggie burgers you like, North.” York pops a french fry smothered in ketchup into his mouth, munching on it happily as Wash carefully cuts his burger in half with the pocket knife he always carries on him, wiping it on a napkin before setting it aside carefully. He’ll have to clean it later. York snorts, grinning at him when he shrugs. “Oh come on Wash, did you really need to cut that in half?”

“Some of us don’t have as big of a mouth as you do, York.” Wash teases, taking a careful bite of his food. Some mustard leaks out of the burger, landing on his plate, so he leans further over the table, determined not to get his clothes dirty. A comfortable silence settles over them as they devour their food. It seems that as soon as his lovers appeared, York suddenly remembered he was hungry, as the man practically inhales his meal before stealing some of Wash’s fries. Pushing his plate towards his lover in a sign of submission, Wash forfeits his fries, peeling opened the banana that York grabbed for him with a smile. Catching North’s eye, he sinks his mouth over the banana in an obscene way, making York choke.

“Holy hell, Wash. And you said I had a big mouth. But look at you deep throating that banana like a pro.” York’s voice is so low it is practically a hiss. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Pulling some of the banana partially out of his mouth, he bites off a chunk, taking the time to chew and swallow before answering. “I have no clue what you are talking about, York. I’m just sitting here eating my banana. There is nothing wrong with that.”

“If you say so, babe.” York licks his lips when the banana returns to his mouth, but Wash is done with is show. He eats the rest of his fruit in a normal manner, smiling when his lover lets out a disappointed little sigh. The brunette pulls his attention away from Wash’s lips to glance at North. “Are the two of you finished then?”

“Yep.” Wash answers for them, popping his p. “Let’s stash our trays and head off to whatever torture Carolina had the two of you set up earlier.”

Pushing to his feet, Wash follows his lovers as they drop their trays off and head towards the rec room. York grins over his shoulder at him as they walk. “Oh you’re going to love this one. It was pretty fun to set up and I guarantee you won’t be walking straight tonight.”

“Oh? Sounds interesting.” Wash raises an eyebrow before grinning as York walks into North instead of turning the corner due to his focus behind him. The taller man grunts in surprise, hand catching the brunette’s bicep to steady him. “Although it seems that you don’t need any alcohol to reach that point. Should we skip tonight and just take you to bed?”

“You know I could never resist an offer like that.” York chuckles, sending him a cheeky wink. “But no, I wouldn’t miss this one for the world. Trust me.”

“Oh he’s not lying, Wash.” The smile on North’s face is a mixture of fondness and amusement. “But, I can offer you this in consolation: you may be staggering a bit by the end of tonight, but I don’t think York will be walking. At all. In fact, I don’t even know if I will be walking. Especially not when facing off against you.”

“The hype better be real about this or else I’ll be sorely disappointed in the two of you.” Wash pokes a finger into each of their sides, earning a ticklish squeal from York and a mildly disapproving look from North in return. Grinning innocently, he dances past them, pushing through the rec room door and stopping dead at the sight in front of him. Most of the tables are pushed against the wall, with the exception of their usual beer pong table, which is set up strangely, with 4 cans of beer sitting on one end. The end of the room hosts what looks like an obstacle course made out of chairs, cushions, the coffee table, a few cardboard boxes, and various household items that take Wash back to childhood games before his colony got glassed, playing don’t touch the ground with his friends in the living room. The wave of nostalgia hits him like a tidal wave of bricks, the memories so overwhelming it's almost crippling.

Taking a deep breath he carefully pushes the memories away to take in the rest of the room. There is a line taped to the floor about 10 feet away from a line of carefully placed beers, 8 darts placed in pairs of two on the line directly across for the cans of beer, a second can of beer sitting next to them. A set of  four wiffleball bats lean against the corner behind the beer pong table, 4 cans and a bottle of vodka sitting next to it. And across the room at the end of the obstacle course, two cases of beer rest on a table.

Grinning, he rubs his hands together before meeting Carolina’s gaze. “Beer Olympics? This should be fun, boss. Think you can keep up?”

“Careful Rookie. I might just decide I can do this on my own.” A dangerous cock of her eyebrow has Wash swallowing hard for a moment before striding forward and unblocking the door. South nods at them as they enter, sprawled across one of the relocated couches as Florida fiddles with the stereo again, selecting an upbeat, poppy playlist. Carolina surveys the layout once more before sighing. “We’re just waiting for CT and Wyoming now. Niner offered to time keep on the condition that she doesn’t have to help with cleanup or babysit anyone while they vomit. She’s also allowed to drink anything she damn well pleases. Don’t give her a hard time, South.”

“Yeah, whatever.” South waves that information off, watching the door with feigned indifference. She perks up the moment it opens to reveal Connie and Niner, chatting animatedly. Wash watches as she pushes off the couch, approaching the two ladies. He catches the stutter in her step when Connie’s laugh rings out, loud and clear. Interesting. It seems like his best friend might find herself on the end of a South crush. Probably not the most comfortable place to be, as North’s twin can be extremely aggressive when she finds something she wants. But Connie can handle anything that comes her way, he’s sure of that. Besides, she’d probably thrive on the danger and unpredictability dating South would supply.

Carolina’s voice pulls him from those thoughts and he offers his lovers an excited grin as she sweeps her arm back to encompass the setup of the room. She starts to explain the rules as Niner passes out a beer to everyone. “Now that we’re all here… Welcome to the Beer Olympics people. We’re gonna do this in teams of two. York and North, South and CT,  Wyoming and Florida, and the Rookie and myself. Since our teams are so small, we’re gonna do this relay style. There are only five events, so it should go pretty fast. Our events are the obstacle course, beer darts, beer ball, dizzy bat, and the two teams with the fastest score at the end take part in the case race. Niner is keeping score. The timer doesn’t stop until both team members have finished all the events, or, in the event of a teammate passing out, all events are completed twice. Try not to pass out though. Because if you pass out anyone remaining on their feet at the end are allowed to draw shit on your face. House rules.”

Wash chuckles at that, elbowing York sharply. The brunette mutters under his breath. “Just don’t draw anything too embarrassing, kay?”

“Can’t make any promises.” North grins at his response before shushing them as Carolina continues her explanation, moving on to the specifics of each event. Wash pays careful attention, he’s not familiar with many of the games.

“The obstacle course is the start. You chug a beer, then navigate the course **without** touching the floor. Once you’ve successfully reached the end of the course, you chug another beer and move on. Next is beer darts. Open your beer. Every time you throw a dart you have to take a drink of your beer, until either the beer is empty or the dart thrown has struck the beer can at the other end of the ring. Once you’ve punctured the beer at the other end, you chug it. You don’t have to finish your first beer to move on, but the beer you’re throwing darts at needs to be punctured and finished before you move on. From there, you head over to the beer ball table. It's kind of like beer pong, only the whole point is bounce the ball onto the top of your can. Every time you hit your can you can take a one second drink. But if you land the ball on top of the beer and it stays, you can chug it. Once your beer is empty you, once again, move on to the final event: dizzy bat. This one is pretty simple. You pour the beer into the bat, chug it, and then spin around the bat with your forehead touching it for as many rotations as the seconds it took you to drink your beer. From there your teammate throws your beer can to you until you hit it with the bat. Every time you miss you take a shot until you either hit the can or pass out. Then it’s your partner’s turn to go through the whole race. Like I said before, the teams with the top two times participate in the case race for supremacy. In the case race, one team member has to drink as many beer from the case as he can as quickly as possible. The winner is the first person to finish their case or the last person standing. Good luck team, you’re gonna need it.”

“Oh god, I’m going to die.” York groans beside him, scrubbing a hand over his face. “When we were setting this up, it seemed fun. But no, this is hell. Hell has beer and is on a ship named the Mother of Invention. Carolina is the devil. We are all going to die of alcohol poisoning. Better alert the medbay now.”

“Aww, come on York. Stop being so dramatic.” Wash grins, thoroughly enjoying his lover’s despair. He makes a big show of cracking open his beer and chugging it. “Just make sure you hit everything on the first try and you won’t have any issues. It’s only, what… 6 or 7 beer? Plus a few shots if you miss. You’ll be fine. Now drink up before we get started.”

York and North follow his lead before joining the rest of the team in front of the obstacle course. Carolina hands them each a coloured bandanna. “This is your team’s colour. Each set of equipment and beer has a colour. Only use or aim for the items with your colour people. I’ll give you a second to decide who of your team gets to go first.”

Wash approaches Carolina once she’s finished handing out the colours, accepting the light blue bandanna she hands him. “Blue team, huh?”

“Blue team is the best team. Don’t dis the blue.” Carolina’s voice is teasing when she says it, offering him smile. “I think I should probably go first, just in case. You think you can handle the case race, Rookie?”

“Won’t be a problem boss.” Wash holds out his fist for her to bump. She does it with a snort and a shake of her head. “Good luck, kick some ass.”

“Won’t need the luck, you dork.” The affection in her voice warms him to his toes; sometimes Carolina is hard to read, always giving him a hard time about needing to train harder.

Grinning Wash settles back to watch his friends go through what is bound to be an amusing team building night. It doesn’t take long for the first causality to happen; South slams back the entire first beer for the beer darts instead of bothering to sip it between throws before tossing her dart wildly. At this point she’s already four beer down in under ten minutes and not even bothering to aim. Obviously she isn’t taking her fall from the leaderboard very well, from the obvious frustration already starting to radiate off of her. Her second dart is thrown with enough force to bounce off the wall and careen towards York. His lover dodges it with a yelp and South laughs at him as she collects the rogue projectile.

“Oops, my bad Captain Fury.” Wash winces at the nickname; South’s been coming up with creative eye related jokes and names over the past week and even North’s patience is wearing extremely thin. York takes it surprising well this time, tossing his dart with calculated precision, barely missing. Focusing on his own partner, he grins as he watches Carolina line up her second dart and send it flying straight into the middle of her can. Cracking it open, she drains it in a few long pulls before joining Florida at the beer ball table.

It seems that the third event is harder than he thinks it should be because by the time South manages to drunkenly bounce her dart off the wall and ricochet it into the can, Carolina is only half way through her can. Florida crows in triumph as his ball finally finds purchase on the open lip of the can. Draining the last of his beer, the cheery Freelancer moves onto the final event. Wash grins as he watches the man’s braid swirl around his shoulders during his rotations around the bat. When Florida staggers upright, Wyoming tosses the can at him. The first two swings are misses and a shudder runs through him as he watches the dangerous man down his two shots without blinking. On the third toss, the bat connects with the can, making an uncomfortable crunching sound. The man staggers, tossing an arm around Wyoming’s shoulders and guiding him back to the start. “I’m passing the torch on to you my good fellow. Good luck, don’t let the team down, Reggie. I am just going to be sitting over here for now.”

Wash watches in alarm as Florida collapses in the direction of an arm chair, reaching out to catch him without thinking. The older man’s hand catches his wrist with a frightening speed and intensity, causing the fine hairs on his arms and the back of his neck to stand up. It takes him a moment but his grip relaxes when recognition dons on his face. “Ah, young Washington. Thank you for the concern but I am fine.”

Wash nods in acceptance, quickly removing himself from the man’s grasp and joining his partner as she approaches the dizzy bat area. Carolina down’s the beer impressively fast, taking seventeen spins around the bat before staggering into a batting stance. “C’mon Rookie, gimme a good throw.”

Wash grins at the slur in her words. He hasn’t seen Carolina this wasted in ages. Throwing a soft under hand to her proves pointless as she swings too fast, missing the can entirely. Laughing, he collects it, watching as she shudders with the after effects of the vodka. “Better ‘n that one, faster, kay Wash?”

York stumbles over just after he throws the can again, tripping over his own feet and falling into Wash’s arms. Instead of releasing his grip on Wash when he helps him up, the brunette clings to him tightly, slurring excitedly into his ear. “Heyyy. There’s my guy. Did I e’re tell ya how pretteh yur eyes are? ‘N yur dots. Yur fuckin adoable Wash.”

“Ah OK. North? I think your partner needs to sit down…” He calls out to his other lover. As much as he’d like to stay like this, with York’s breath on his cheek and compliments being muttered in his ear, Wash is pretty sure he heard the sound of Carolina hitting the can. He’s considering himself lucky that she hasn’t started yelling at him yet. North chuckles, hand settling on York’s waist and tugging him gently away from Wash. Noticing the shift, the brunette clings harder. Giving his taller lover his best pleading look, he utters a quiet plea. “Please take him. Before Carolina realizes that she hit that can and gets mad at me for not taking my turn.”

Once they manage to get York untangled, Wash turns his attention to Carolina. The sight that greets him makes him grin widely. His partner is still holding the bat, staring at the crushed can at her feet in bemusement. Approaching her, he offers his congratulations. “Hey, good job ‘Lina. You crushed that can.”

“Yep, I got it good. Only thing is, can’t member wha I was suposto do after.” She shrugs at him, allowing him to take the bat from her hands and lean it against the wall. Wash leads her back to the couch, keeping his mirth to himself as he presses her down, handing her a bottle of water. “Ah, thanks kid.”

“All you need to do now is sit here, OK Boss? It’s my turn to tackle this mess.” Carolina nods, fighting with the lid on the water. Wash takes it from her, opening it before handing it back and placing the lid on the arm of the couch. Heading to the beginning of the course, Wash downs his beer and starts his journey. By the time he gets passed the darts, he understands why everyone is drunk. The speed in which beers are being consumed has him more than a little tipsy. The beer ball proves to be more challenging than beer pong, and not just due to the alcohol in his system. The ball refuses to stay on the top of the thing without landing properly. Wyoming seems to be struggling as well, as he attempts different angles and shots. It takes Wash a few bounce offs before he starts to develop a tactic. Even so, his new approach continues to require refining, and by the time he lands the ball on the top of the can, he’s joined by Connie and North, both having had to tag their partners out from dizzy bat. Draining the rest of his beer he approaches the final task on less than steady feet. Wyoming staggers after him moments after he drains his bat, spinning around it twenty times. Niner shrugs, glancing at rest of the passed out Freelancers before speaking. “Hey you assholes. I’d say that Wash and Wyoming are winners. Everyone agree?”

A series of affirmations follow her decree, North even going so far as to sigh in relief before moving over to collapse on the loveseat next to York. Wash shoots him a drunken smile before turning his attention back to Niner and Wyoming. “Do we still need to do the thingy? With all the beer?”

“Oh not bleeding likely. Sorry, lad but I give over.” Wyoming’s accent is almost overwhelming, but the Wash is pretty sure he gets the gist of it. Niner clarifies anyway.

“What’s that mean, Mustache?” He has to stifle the giggle that threatens to overtake him when she say’s that. “You forfeit?”

“Isn’t that what I just bloody well said?” Niner throws her hands up in surrender before turning to Wash and shrugging. Wyoming slumps against the wall briefly before regaining enough of his balance, heading over to heave Florida to his feet. “Up you go, mate, off ta bed with ya. G’nite chaps.”

Niner offers him a nod as the two oldest Freelancers leave. “Congratulations Rookie. Now what are you going to do? It seems like your entire team is passed out.”

“You heard Carolina. House rules says we can draw whatever we want on their faces.” Wash produces a pair of sharpies from his pocket, offering her one. “I always come to these things prepared to seize the opportunity. Not sure if you should draw on ‘Lina but the rest of them are fair game. South likes to draw dicks, so feel free to get creative.”

“Will do, Rookie.” Wash grins when he hears the sound of the cap being removed, already focused on giving York Elvis sideburns and a mustache that could rival Wyoming’s. He can’t wait until his lovers wake up in the morning and see the masterpieces he’s about to turn them into.


	15. Conservation and Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up with a hangover has never really been North's favourite thing. Having serious discussions about life or death situations while nursing that hangover is even worse. But at least he has heart-to-heart chats with South to fall back on. Because that's always a pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long wait for a short chapter. I apologize. But, I'm already writing chapter 16 so hopefully things will progress in a more timely manner from now on. No promises. For those of you that follow me on tumblr, I'd also like to take this time point out the return of Smondays. For those of you not following me on tumblr... you're missing out on smutty goodness. As always, the ask box is open for prompts.  
> http://thejokeristhethief.tumblr.com/

His head hurts. And his face feels… not quite itchy, but not right either. Heavy, as if there is something coating his skin. It's a strange feeling, definitely uncomfortable but not the pain. A mild annoyance. Unlike the severe pounding in his head and the puffy, stiff texture his tongue has decided to take on. Groaning, he stretches, suddenly aware of the crick in his neck and the lumpy, uneven surface that definitely isn’t one of the three beds he’s grown used to. The heavy weight on his left shoulder and the warmth of the body draped across his lap, undoubtedly causing the tingling sensation in his legs, are familiar, as is the scent of York’s stupid hair gel. Cracking one eye open - the other glued shut with rheum - he takes in his current predicament. York must have crawled into his lap over the course of the night, because the weight causing his legs to fall asleep is from his brunette lover. The other man is curled into him, a hand clutching his shirt loosely while his head rests on North’s shoulder, face buried into his neck. Some thoughtful person draped a blanket over them during the night.

The position is so familiar, so reminiscent of earlier days, that it takes him a moment to realize what the slightly off feeling is. He’s alone on the couch with York, no Wash in sight. A cursory glance around the rec room reveals a distinct lack of the youngest Freelancer. In fact, the room’s only other occupants are CT and South, the two of them entangled together on one of the other couches in the room with the smaller woman using his sister as a mattress. North can’t help grinning at that, despite the way his head is swimming; South has been pining quietly since a few months into the project and it feels good to finally see her getting somewhere on that front.

Groaning, he removes his free arm from the warmth of the blanket, tucking the soft wool that definitely isn’t regulation securely around York’s body before pushing them towards the edge of the sofa. Sliding his arm under his lover’s knees, North pushes himself to his feet, staggering slightly with the combination of his leftover state of inebriation and numb legs. They other man shifts in his grip, mumbling something unintelligible before pressing in closer. He moves slowly across the room, careful not to wake his lover as he approaches the door. Frowning, he contemplates the handle; there is no way he’s going to be able to pull it open with his arms full and putting York down is out of the question. If he’s still slightly intoxicated, their resident lightweight is, without a doubt, still completely wasted. With a sigh, he adjusts his grip, awkwardly balancing the brunette while freeing up his hand to pull the door open. The angle is awkward and he has to step closer to the door to reach. North just about manages to latch his fingers around it when the door in question flies open, the metal panel slamming into them with surprising force, knocking him flat on his back and waking York instantly as his head slams painfully against his shoulder. 

The brunette lets out a confused, hurt shout, glancing around the room in a bewildered, wide-eyed stare. His grip tightens on North’s shirt while trying to shake the sleep and alcohol from his clouded mind. He cradles the other man close as he struggles to grasp the situation. Recognition comes slower than usual, only washing over him when he meets the gaze of worried brown eyes. He’s distantly aware of Wash’s panic tinged voice fighting its way through the ringing in his ears. “Shit. Shit, North are you OK? York, he’s not answering. Did he hit his head? North! Come on hun, answer me please.”

York’s hand cups his face, tilting his head until their gazes meet, a sharp grey eye, not nearly as cloudy as it should be, studying his intently. He traces the way his lover’s focus darts from one of his eyes to the other, peering at him carefully before pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “He’s fine, Wash. Still drunk and probably slightly dazed from getting hit by a fucking door. What the fuck, babe?”

“Sorry! I didn’t know he’d be standing there. I assumed you’d both be out for a few more hours at the very least.” Wash rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, shifting from one foot to the other. “I had to take care of ‘Lina first. She was actually conscious, so getting her to bed seemed a little easier than tackling you lot. That was until we got half way down the hall and she started demanding food. We now have enough peanut butter and jam sandwiches to feed a small planet. I wasn’t even aware that we had that much bread.”

He perks up at the same time York does. The brunette struggles to his feet, tugging North up with him. They trade a look before he turns to the shorter blonde. “Sandwiches? Where? Are there any left? I’m hungry, Wash.”

“‘Are there any left?’ She used five fucking loaves of bread. Five. And two of those huge ass tubs of peanut butter. You might get diabetes from all the jam too.” Wash sighs, screwing his face up in disgust. “She used grape jelly on some of them. And then, after all of that effort, she didn’t even want them anymore. Made me eat three. I don’t even like jam. Unless it's strawberry.”

“Awww, poor Washy.” York coos at him, causing North to smile. “Don’t worry. We won’t make you eat any. But we do want sandwiches.”

“They’re already in the bunk. I was just coming to wake you up and make you eat. And have some damn water.” The younger man ducks under York’s arm, wrapping one of his around the swaying brunette. “You OK over there North? Steady enough on your feet to help me get this lush to bed?”

“Mm, yeah. Food and sleep sounds about perfect right now.” He tosses an arm over York’s shoulders, smiling down at his lovers as the middle man grips his waist. “Good to go?”

“Yep.” York nods, taking a staggering step forward when they do. Wash chuckles beside him, tugging open the door, and allowing North to ease them through it. The heavy door chases them, it's closing slowed by Wash’s foot before gently clicking shut. The brunette sways into him, head returning to his shoulder. “Love you guys. Even if one of you did hit me with a door.”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!” The youngest man sounds genuinely upset and guilty about it, causing North to wince. Upset Wash before bed usually means nightmares. As if it wasn’t already going to be a long night. York’s head leaves his shoulder as the brunette peers over at their younger lover, staring intently. The shorter blonde’s shoulders hunch up in uncertainty under the scrutiny as the other man’s gaze continues. By the time they are halfway to his room, North can tell Wash has almost reached an eight in anxiety and regardless of York’s plans, he isn’t about to let the situation spiral. He catches his youngest lover’s attention, rolling his eyes and smiling reassuringly. Some of the tightness in his shoulders loosens as the shorter man returns the smile briefly, before nudging York. “York, stop staring at me. I apologized. And you know it was an accident.”

“Hmm what?” The brunette shakes his head quickly. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. Got distracted with counting your freckles. There are just so many of them. And you’ve made me lose track now. Dammit babe. Who came up with the idea of painting your skin like that? It's so unfair that you have that much cuteness.”

North chuckles at the speed in which Wash’s cheeks flush scarlet. The youngest man mutters something about not being cute before placing a quick peck on York’s cheek. The look of utter awe on their lover’s face following that innocent action is quite comical, as is the way the brunette lifts his arm from its position draped over the shorter man’s shoulders to ghost his fingers over the the place Wash’s lips were moments before. The other blonde’s eyes are trained on the floor in front of them, the flush spreading to the tips of his ears as they move steadily towards his room. It’s strange to see the youngest Freelancer this unsure and shy with them. Usually when it is just the three of them there is a certain lack of reservation. But right now Wash is acting like their relationship is shiny and new again. Like they haven’t gone through all the bullshit, all the misunderstandings, all the fear of the last few weeks. North doesn’t even try to hide the sappy smile that spreads across his face; Wash is utterly adorable and so incredibly sweet, especially when like this. 

As lost in his head as he is, North fails to realize that his lovers have stopped until York’s grip on his waist tugs him backwards. One of Wash’s hands, ridiculously soft considering their line of work, clamps around his wrist, to stop him from teetering backward. His voice is soft and incredibly fond, fingers squeezing briefly around his wrist. “Whoa, careful there North. The two of you are a mess and if you go down York’s gonna go with you. I’m not sure he’ll be getting back up on his own accord if that happens. So stay standing for a few more minutes, ‘kay?”

The door in front of them whooshes open as Wash punches in the code, fingers finding the keys automatically. York takes a stumbling step forward, dragging him forwards in the process and almost sending them tumbling to the floor for the countless time that night. North catches the door frame, almost dropping the brunette when the moan falls from his lips. “Mmm fuck. Look North! Food, sandwiches! We’re saved, we won’t starve. God, I’m so hungry.”

The snort Wash lets out mirrors North’s feelings completely. York is dramatic when sober; when drunk it’s like watching a high school soap opera. A freckled hand grips the brunette’s arm tightly, hauling him upright and relieving him of the other man’s weight. Somehow they manage to cross the room to the tiny bed with itchy regulation sheets and, more importantly, the plate of sandwiches resting on the otherwise barren side table. North’s eyes drift over the plan walls of Wash’s quarters; he always forgets how little personal belongings his younger lover actually has. Both his and York’s rooms are decked out with pictures of family and friends, non-regulation blankets, extra pillows, and, in the brunette’s case, a feather stuffed mattress topper. But, aside from the small frame sitting just behind the plate of sandwiches containing a picture of the three of them, Wash’s room is depressingly regulation. Another moan from York steals his attention, as his lover often does. The man is obviously still intoxicated, and North winces at the peanut butter smeared grin he’s offered.

“Charming.” Wash sighs, passing North the plate of sandwiches. “You better take a few of those before York stuffs the entire plate into his mouth. I always forget how gross drunk people are. Although, he hasn’t vomited yet, so I’ll count that as a win.”

“‘m righ here, y’know?” York mutters through his mouthful of peanut butter, grape jelly, and bread. The disgust on their younger lover’s face when the brunette chokes, coughing unchewed bits of sandwich is understandable. Despite that, Wash still reaches over to pat him on the back, running a soothing hand along his spine after the coughing subsides. 

“Slow down, York. The sandwiches aren’t going anywhere and according to Wash, there is an entire platter of them in the mess.” North scolds him, pulling the plate away when York tries to grab another sandwich despite his mouth being full. The other man grumbles again, before swallowing hard. He rolls his eyes when the brunette opens his mouth, showing that it is mostly empty, other than a few sandwich bits clinging to his tongue. Taking the hint, he moves the plate back into reach. His lover eats his second sandwich slower, much to the obvious relief of Wash. They finish off the sandwiches in comfortable silence, North graciously allowing York the last half. The younger blonde pulls the plate from his hands, carefully setting it aside before tugging him in for a chaste kiss.

“Ready for bed?” The words are murmured against his lips, quiet exhaustion evident in Wash’s voice. North forces his eyes open, taking a moment to wonder when exactly he closed them. The mattress shifts behind him before York drapes himself over his back with a soft whine. A soft, breathy sigh ghosts over his lips before his younger lover shifts, leaning over his shoulder to cup the brunettes face, pressing their lips gently together. After lingering for a few seconds, Wash pulls away, leaning back slightly to settle more comfortably in his lap. He can feel a worried frown crease his forehead; when did the other man find his way into his lap? Warm hands crawl under his shirt, tracing across his stomach and tickling his sides before gripping his shirt. “Arms up hun. Gotta get you undressed before we lose you completely. You keep nodding off.”

The warm pressure on his back disappears as York flops down behind him. North shivers as the cold air caresses his skin when Wash pulls his shirt over his head. A moment later, his smaller lover is sliding from his lap, hands dropping to the waistband of his sweats and tugging them down unceremoniously. He tries to help by canting his hips but the attempt falls flat when he fails to hold them up for more than a few seconds. His lover’s soft chuckle registers in his blurry mind, settling warmly in his chest, before he finds himself manhandled into an easier position. Gooseflesh raises on his skin as the rooms chill chases the fabric down his legs. His vision swims as exhaustion and leftover inebriation catch up to him. He cooperates as much as his heavy limbs will allow as Wash’s hands pull and push him up the bed. The last thing he’s aware of through the haze is the warm presence of his two lovers settling on either side of him as he drifts off.

* * *

North’s nose twitches him into wakefulness as something soft and familiar brushes against it. He inhales the scent of York’s shampoo, resisting the urge to sneeze when the brunette’s hair rubs against his nose again. The older of his two lovers is sprawled out across his chest, drooling onto his shoulder while snoring loudly. He groans in disgust at the saliva that has pooled against his clavicle overnight. The sound causes York to stir, whimpering in protest and dragging his face along North’s shoulder in an effort to resist waking up. Wrapping an arm around his waist in an attempt to keep from completely disturbing his sleeping lover, he shuffles himself towards the edge of the bed, hand groping for a tissue or something to clean himself off. He frowns when his fingers contact nothing, finally prying his tired eyes open fully and taking in his surroundings. The night filters back into his consciousness as he recognizes the bare walls of Wash’s room. Pulling open the drawer, he locates the package of barely opened wet wipes, carefully nudging York’s head to the side before mopping up the mess. The brunette snuffles, stirring again, lips ghosting over the same path before settling down with his face pressed into North’s neck. He shivers when a content sigh leaves his lover, hot breath rushing over his skin.

Running his hand up and down York’s back, North searches the room for any clues on where Wash could be. The digital clock above the door reads 05:00 - far too early to be awake after the last night’s events. Especially considering the Rookie played babysitter for the entire team despite drinking the same amount of alcohol as most of them. Worry claws at him when the room provides him no clues. If Wash has already started his day then the nightmares must be worse than his younger lover has been letting on. He silently vows to make sure the absent man gets a decent night’s sleep tonight before letting his eyelids flutter shut. Trapped under York as he is, North might as well get some more sleep; the brunette certainly won’t be waking anytime soon.

* * *

When North awakens the second time, it’s to the soft sounds of a whispered conversation. York is still spread out across him, a comfortably warm weight that makes him want to cling to the vestiges of sleep. A hand is running idly through his hair, fingers tugging softly at barely there tangles, and something warm is pressing against his upper arm. If the conversation wasn’t pulling so insistently on his interest, he’d be tempted to drift back into a warm and comfortable sleep. As it is, the serious notes of his lovers’ voices pull him steadily into awareness.

He groans dramatically when a sudden pain lances through his head, immediately causing the conversation to cut off with a dry chuckle from York. Cracking one eye open cautiously, he’s greeted with the sight of a freckled frown, followed by two small pills, which Wash pushes into his mouth without a word. The sound of a water bottle being twisted opened assaults his ears, before a hand grips the back of his head gently and the bottle is pressed against his lips. North swallows a couple of mouthfuls of water, suddenly aware of just how parched his mouth is. Once he’s drank half of it, the bottle and the hand supporting his head retreat, allowing him his independence. Propping himself up on his elbows, he fights against York’s weight before the other man shifts, allowing him to sit up. The world spins and he curses softly; he didn’t feel this awful when he was awake earlier. The warmth pressing into his side shifts, sliding behind him and pressing against his back, supporting his weight. Wash presses a soft kiss below his ear. “Careful North, you’re extremely dehydrated. Don’t feel bad, York was too. But he’s been awake long enough to down a few bottles of water. I’m sorry, I forgot to make you both drink water before bed last night.”

“Mmm.” Slumping back, he allows Wash to take the full brunt of his weight, accepting the half empty bottle of water from York. Downing the rest of it quickly, he scrubs a hand over his face. The brunette removes the empty bottle, replacing it with a full one before pressing a kiss to his forehead. Relaxing into the pampering, North muffles the yawn that forces its way through his parched lips. A responding yawn echoes from behind him before his blonde lover presses another kiss to the back of his jaw. The sound triggers something in his muddled mind and shoots away from Wash’s chest, forehead connecting painfully with York’s nose, letting out an audible crunch. The brunette falls back with a yelp, clutching his face. “Shit. Sorry York. Let me see.”

York drops his hands from his face when he pulls on them gently. His nose is a little red and his eyes are watering but there is no blood, something he’s extremely grateful for. North hates hurting the people he loves, especially by accident. Brushing away a stray tear tracing its way down York’s cheek, he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lover’s nose before moving on to capture his lips. When they break apart, the brunette meets his gaze, confused look in his eye. “What brought on that little spaz attack?”

“Just remembered something about last night.” He twists so he can see Wash’s face. The younger blonde shows no signs of fatigue, no exhaustion in his eyes. In fact, the only thing North can read on his youngest lover’s face is guarded concern. Brown eyes bore into his, Wash meeting his worry with his own concern, searching for something in the icy depths of his own eyes. The impromptu staring contest comes to an abrupt end when York hooks his chin over North’s shoulder to look at Wash as well.

“Yeah North, that’s Wash. I’m glad you remember him. I’d be slightly worried if you suddenly forgot about the other person we’re dating. Although, it might be fun watching you two get reacquainted.” York wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, causing Wash to roll his eyes, a reluctant trace of a smile pushes some of the worry from his expression. North groans in annoyance, shoving the brunette back using his forearm to press against the other man’s chest. The motion sends York crashing down onto the mattress. His focus never leaves the youngest man’s face, not even turning when he acknowledges the string of curses the third man huffs out. “What the fuck North? That was uncalled for, asshole. No reason to push me, you dick.”

“Stop acting like a child, York. I need a moment of seriousness, and we all know you’ll just sit there making faces over my shoulder. Not that you need them to make you look ridiculous. Nice sideburns, Elvis.” A wordless grumble sounds behind him and Wash chuckles. He figures that the older, less mature of his two lovers probably has his tongue sticking out like a five year old. A quick peek confirms his suspicions; the youngest man breaks out into full on giggles at the noise of exasperation he makes. “See? That right there? That is is why you were regulated to the mattress. Put your tongue back in your mouth. And you! Did you even sleep last night, Wash?”

“Yeah, I got a few hours.” The smaller blonde shrugs carelessly. The small smile of reassurance does everything except soothe North. Something is off and has been for a few nights. And he has a hunch it isn’t just about Maine. While his lover has always been plagued with nightmares, they are occurring far more frequently and seem to be getting more intense. When coupled with Wash’s reaction to the most recent events, he’s becoming more concerned that Wash is hiding something from them. His expression must display some of his disbelief because freckled hands are suddenly cupping his face. “I promise I got some sleep last night, North. I put everyone to bed and then came back for cuddles. Ask York, I was still sleeping when he woke up.”

“Mmm, don’t get me involved in this.” There is a wary note in York’s voice, as if the brunette expects the discussion to turn into a full-fledged argument. It is apparent from the frown that creases Wash’s forehead that his younger lover hears it as well. Leaning in, he steals a quick kiss before continuing the conversation.

“When I woke up a few hours after you deposited us into bed, you weren’t here. I’m just worried about you, that’s all.” Wash’s thumb strokes his cheek, pressing their lips together again, before dropping his hands away from North’s face to wrap around his waist again. He lets himself be tugged back so he’s pressed against Wash’s chest comfortably, rolling his shoulders and neck. York watches them, face carefully blank until he beckons the brunette forward. “Oh come here, idiot. Don’t think you’re gonna get left out of the cuddles.”

There is a slight tinge of annoyance in York’s motions as his other lover crawls across the bed and settles into his lap. It fades away quickly when North gathers him closer and captures his lips in a tender but thorough kiss. They remain cuddled up together until Wash sighs with tired exasperation. “Dammit I wish I could lie to you guys without feeling like shit. I didn’t really sleep last night. I mean I got a couple of ten or fifteen minute naps and managed to crash for a half hour this morning. I’m sorry for lying, North. Just didn’t want you to worry.”

The small tremors of Wash trembling behind him, paired with the way York tenses against his chest are the only thing that keeps him from snapping at his lover. North hates being lied to, especially by someone he loves. Something Wash is well aware of, which must be why the smaller blonde is shaking so hard. He refuses to feed into that fear, forcing himself to stay relaxed instead. Taking a deep breath, he attempts to calm Wash before addressing the worry gnawing at him. “Hush love, it’s OK. I’m not mad at you. I’m happy to hear you can’t lie to us. And thank you for owning up. Now why don’t you tell me why you haven’t been sleeping.”

York relaxes, pressing a silent kiss against his throat in praise. North shudders at the feeling of those warm lips on his skin before shifting his position against Wash so that their bodies are more flush, skin touching in as many places as possible. His youngest lover practically sags against him in relief. He’s rewarded with another press of the brunette’s lips, this time on his shoulder, before York joins the conversation. “Come on, Washy. Out with it. Tell us what is going on in that pretty little head of yours. What’s on your mind, babe?”

“I, umm..” Wash takes a shuddering breath behind them, voice shaking with previously hidden exhaustion and fear. “I’m scared. Things have been escalating recently. Don’t tell me you guys haven’t noticed that things are getting worse. I know you said we have to wait for the right time. But what if a better time doesn’t come? What if things just keep getting worse and we keep waiting for the right window but fail to notice that door is closing. I don’t want to get even more trapped than we already are. We need to get out.”

“OK.” York’s agreement is instantaneous, hand reaching out to squeeze Wash’s ankle in an attempt to comfort their younger lover. “OK. We’ll start looking into exit plans. Do you have any ideas, babe?”

“I think…” The words come out shaky and unsure, as though Wash doesn’t trust them with the information about to be shared. North laces his fingers through the fingers of the hand on his waist that is not tucked in behind York, pressing down gently to show support. The younger man takes a steadying breath, fingers digging into his skin to ground himself before continuing. “I think we should talk to Connie. I think she knows something. I don’t want to tell you any more until she agrees. But I’m pretty sure it’s important.”

“Mm.. Are you sure, love?” Nervousness tickles the back of his neck, raising the hairs there. If Wash is wrong about this, if CT doesn’t know anything, they could be putting themselves in danger. As much as he trusts Wash’s judgement, he’s not sure putting trust in another Freelancer is a good idea. Their teamwork, their ability to trust each other, has been fracturing since the Director implemented the leader board. At this rate, North can’t even trust his own flesh and blood with something this enormous. He’s not sure he wants to entrust his life to someone that isn’t as invested in keeping them alive as he is. Wetting his lips nervously, he voices his concerns quietly. “You have to be sure. Because if we’re wrong on this it could go bad. If she puts us in danger, I won’t even hesitate Wash. I’ll kill her if I have to.”

York’s swift intake of breath is quickly overridden by Wash’s steady, grim reply. “You won’t have to. Because if she betrays us, I’ll do it myself. But I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that. I’m pretty sure about this one.”

York jerks out of his lap, turning to glare at them incredulously. “Are you fucking kidding me? Do you even hear yourselves? The whole reason we are even considering leaving the project is because people we know, our friends, are dying. And the two of you think it’s a good idea to bring someone else into this, someone we aren’t one hundred percent sure of. And if she isn’t what you think she is, you’re just gonna kill her? Isn’t that what we’re trying to avoid here? Jesus Christ Wash, she’s your fucking best friend. You should be trying to get her out without involving her. And North! What the fuck man? We don’t hurt our own.”

“York, calm down.” Wash squeezes him softly while issuing the command, stopping him from engaging in a yelling match with the brunette. “It’s not going to come down to that, I promise. I can almost guarantee Connie wants out just as much as we do. It’s one of the reasons we’ve been arguing. I’d already be working with her if her methods weren’t a little too overt for me. Please trust me.”

York hesitates, still glaring at them from his spot on the bed just out of North’s reach. Watching his lover’s face carefully, he opens his arms welcomingly. “Come back here. Please. I know you don’t like what I just said. But that doesn’t change the fact that I meant it. I will do anything to keep the two of you alive and safe. If that means shooting a teammate, a friend, then I will do it. I’ll do what I have to, York.”

The brunette lets out a soft sigh, muttering something unintelligible under his breath before shifting back up the bed. To North’s disappointment, the other man chooses to settle in the space between them and the wall, rather than resuming his previous position. He does, however, feel a stab of relief when York leans over to trade a chaste kiss with Wash. “I love you guys. And I do trust you, Wash. I just don’t like the idea of people dying. Especially not our friends. That doesn’t mean I won’t kill to protect you though. We do what we have to I guess. If that means getting CT involved, then so be it.”

The rest of the tension leaks out of Wash at those words and his grip loosens around North. They sit there silently, lost in their own thoughts for a few moments until his stomach growls. York’s stomach gurgles in response, causing him to chuckle. “I think our stomachs agree that it’s time for breakfast. What do you say, Wash? Should we go see what they’re serving in the mess?"

“OK. But if it’s peanut butter and jam, I’m leaving.” It takes North a moment to register the significance of his lover’s statement, said with one hundred percent seriousness. York seems to pick up on it first, releasing a small chuckle before pushing Wash’s shoulder softly. The other blonde releases his grip, allowing him to shuffle forward and roll off the bed. He immediately locates the fresh clothing that his younger lover must have collected earlier, dressing efficiently despite his churning stomach and aching head. His lovers quickly follow suit, scrambling into clothes at the insistence of York’s stomach which has started growling steadily. Once they’re all dressed, North steals a quick kiss from each of them before ducking into the hallway and leading them towards the mess.

* * *

The mess smells of fried potatoes and bacon grease, immediately causing North’s mouth to water. It’s also surprisingly full, both Freelancers and regular MOI crew members nursing coffee in various states of dishevelment. After collecting the necessary breakfast staples, the three of them slide into the empty bench across from South. From what he can see of his twin, slumped down with her head resting on the table, her head is in a similar state as his. York perks up at her obvious misery, a grin spreading across his face at the opportunity to harass her. He briefly contemplates stopping his lover, before deciding against it; South wouldn’t hesitate given the chance.

Leaning across the table, the brunette puts his face perilously close to South’s. The volume York uses makes North’s head throb and Wash wince. “ **Good morning, starshine. The earth says hellloo!** ”

“Mmm. Go ‘way York.” South moans into the table, refusing to lift her head as her hand gropes the air to find York. It only takes her a moment to find his face and with a grunt, she shoves him backward. He smiles at the satisfying thump York’s ass makes when it connects hard with the bench. Once the man is out of reach, his twin’s hand flops awkwardly onto the table like a stringless puppet. She releases another soft grunt before slowly retracting it back to wrap around her head. York laughs, earning him a halfhearted raise of South’s middle finger. The lack of energy behind the movement has North grinning. His sister’s antics during a hangover have always amused him. Of course she knows him well enough to recognize he’d be smiling. Her words are mumbled and slightly slurred when she tells him off. “Gah. Fuck you North. If yur not gonna help then go ‘way and take the fuckboy with ya.”

York makes an offended noise in the back of his throat that makes North want to jump to his defense. Wash interrupts that desire with an amused chuckle. Both the brunette and South bristle at the sound but his sister beats his lover out with a biting response. “Oh great. The kid is here too. Just what I needed to help my headache: Captain Giggles. Keep laughing Rookie. See if I help you out next time you find your ass under three tonnes of motorized metal.”

“Whew, someone’s grumpy. That’s no way to treat the person about to offer you painkillers.” The amusement never leaves Wash’s face, something that baffles North. Usually South and Wash are at each other’s throats more than York and South are. Instead his younger lover is smirking at the prone form of his sister, almost as if he knows a deep, dark secret. Popping the top off a bottle of pills, the younger blonde shakes three of them out onto the table beside South’s hand. His sister doesn’t lift her head off of the table until her fingers connect with the caplets. Quickly popping the pills into her mouth, she swipes York’s coffee, washing them down with the bitter brew and the brunette’s protests.

The grimace of disgust when the unsweetened taste of black coffee lingers on her tongue makes North grin; the words that follow widen it to a smirk. His sister has never enjoyed coffee that doesn’t have copious amounts of sugar and creamer. “That’s fucking gross. How can you stand drinking that?”

York stares at his empty mug in dismay, a dramatic whimper escaping his lips. “That was my coffee. And now it’s empty. Wash… She stole my coffee.”

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t think she liked it very much.” Wash offers with a shrug. North winces when York turns to stare, a pout starting on those perfect lips. His bottom lip trembles in a way that should not be anywhere close to as alluring as it is. With a small sigh and one last lingering sip, the younger of his two lovers sets his mug of undoctored coffee down on the table and slides it over to the brunette. York lets out a sound of pure happiness, wrapping his hands around the warm ceramic cup and taking a long drink. Wash huffs, crossing his arms over his chest while staring pointedly at the other man. After a moment passes a dejected mutter falls from his lips. “A little bit of gratitude would have been nice. But whatever.”

“Awww, sorry Washy. Thank you for giving up your nectar of the gods.” North smiles at the dramatics, watching as York reaches over to squeeze Wash's thigh. The other blonde quirks an eyebrow at him when the brunette continues. “With this brew I will regain my strength. And then we shall build an empire. Together we will rule a corner of the universe larger than ever before.”

“Ook. That's my cue to leave.” South pushes herself up, listing slightly before regaining her balance. “Fuck. Fucking Beer Olympics. Fuck this hangover. Fuck being awake.”

North watches her stagger off for a moment before deciding that it's probably the perfect time to talk to his sister about a few things. Downing his own coffee, he rises smoothly, answering the curious tilt of York’s head vaguely. “I need to have a few words with my sister. I’ll see you guys later.”

“OK man. Do what you gotta do.” York responds as he’s turning to follow South’s path out of the mess. North affords him a wave, head still throbbing despite the painkillers and water Wash forced on him earlier. The lack of volume control the older of his two lovers has is far from helpful when it comes to recovering from it. As if to prove this train of thought, York’s voice follows him to the door. “Oh hey North, hold up. Don’t forget about that group training seminar thing we have at 15:00, kay? You asked me to remind you yesterday.”

Offering a final wave, he sets off to find his sister, a task that shouldn’t be too difficult considering she cited having a nap as her excuse to leave.

* * *

It turns out that finding South is more complex than just heading to her bunk. So far North has checked her quarters, the rec area, the lounge Wash dubbed the library - a name that has stuck despite the fact there isn’t a single book in the small, comfortable, and mostly silent room-, the alcove he often catches CT, Maine, or the Rookie wedged in when they need a power nap, **his bunk** , her bunk for a second time, and just to be on the safe side her favourite couch in the rec room again. Of course, just as he’s decided to give up and head over to York’s room where he suspects his lovers have ended up, he runs into her. Literally. 

South lets out a surprised grunt as they collide while she’s backing out of CT’s bunk, a huge grin on her face. He catches her before she can fall, keeping her on her feet with a natural ease. Despite that, she whirls on him with a snarl before freezing completely when she recognizes him. A myriad of emotions cross her face, far too numerous and fleeting to get a read on all of them. The final one that settles over her features, however, is one he’s well acquainted with: resignation. Despite knowing he’s already won, North continues to match her stare, waiting until she willingly blurts out the reason for her exiting their teammate’s room with such as satisfied look on her face. It doesn’t take long; a few minutes of eye contact has her looking away with a curse. “Fuck. Fine, you asshole. I finally got somewhere on that front. Couldn’t let you be the only asshole getting some on this ship.”

“Hah! I told you.” North pumps his fist victoriously. Neither of them have discussed the potential relationship between the two ladies since he’d tried to convince South that CT was showing signs of reciprocating a few months into the project. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he tosses her a grin while guiding them down the hall to her room. “Should have listened to your brother and gone for it earlier. Come on, I’d like to hear the details.”

“Fine. But if you tell me I told you so again I am going to knock you on your ass and you won’t hear a single goddamn detail more.” The glare South sends him is fierce and angry and complete bullshit. North offers her another smile, squeezing her shoulder gently, opening his mouth to call her bluff. She stalls him with a warning punch to the shoulder that stings slightly more than normal. “Don’t think I can’t take you down just because you’re bigger than me, North. I’ll have you crying for mom before you even finish uttering those fucking words.”

The words are familiar, variations uttered thousands of times between the two of them. It makes his heart twinge with nostalgia. No matter what Freelancer has in store for him, North refuses to let it take this. The war has already taken so much from him and the project is threatening to take more. But this? South, Wash, and York are his family. And he’ll be damned if he’s going to let that be ruined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you wondering, the line York says to South is from the musical Hair.


	16. Brilliance and Bullshit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dealing with a hangover is never fun. Dealing with an exhausted boyfriend, a meeting with Price, AI theory class, and exit strategies on a hangover is even worse. North and Wash are lucky that York isn't half as snarky as he could be.

The morning after team building happens is always the worst. Especially on days where North has a hangover. The sniper is always grumpy when waking up, but it’s even worse when headaches are involved. Frankly, York would vastly prefers to avoid his lover until he’s positive the man has had time to recover completely. That doesn’t mean that he doesn’t worry when the asshole takes off after his sister with nary a word despite only eating half of his breakfast. Turning to Wash, he opens his mouth to complain, a plan that comes crashing down when the younger agent blinks heavily at him. Apparently with North gone, the other blonde has given up pretending that exhaustion isn’t riding heavily on his shoulders. Resisting the urge to lean over and kiss his lover, York shovels the last bite of hashbrowns off his plate and into his mouth. Eying the barely touched platter of food in front of the man next to him, York sighs. “Alright Sleepy. Let’s get you to bed before Grumpy comes back. You can take a power nap and we won’t mention just how exhausted you are to North.”

“He worries more.” Wash mutters quietly, pushing the pile of cold scrambled eggs around, dragging a forkful through the smear of ketchup on his plate. York winces when his lover wraps his lips around the utensil. A look of disgust passes over the other man’s adorably freckled face before the fork clatters back to the table. “Well, that was gross. I don’t think I’m going to eat any of this. Shame, that. Hashbrowns are my favourite.”

Taking that as permission, York herds Wash off the bench, collecting North’s half-eaten breakfast and his own scraped clean plate even as the other man stumbles upright with a barely contained yawn. Snatching his own tray from the table, his younger lover trails after him as he deposits the dishes in the proper place. Despite the relatively short distance from the mess to his bunk Wash can barely remain awake for the trip. Quickly punching in his passcode, he takes a quick look around before sweeping the smaller man up and carrying him the last dozen steps to his bed. Placing his lover on the bed, he tugs off his shoes before pulling the covers back and tucking Wash in. His eyelids have already fluttered shut by the time York places a soft kiss to his forehead. “Sleep well babe. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Wash’s murmured reply is quiet, trailing off before fully formed. Retrieving his data pad from the side table, York opens up the holographic puzzle program he installed during the first month of the project for practice before the Director introduced time for specialty training. Selecting a puzzle of medium difficulty, he relaxes into the intricacies of a fractal geometric puzzle, fingers manipulating the hologram as he slides pieces into their proper places, unlocking a deeper layer with each successful prod or twist. The puzzle takes up so much of his focus that he nearly jumps out of his skin when the tablet blips with an alert from F.I.L.S.S. A moment later the voice of the MoI’s AI filters through the device’s speakers. “Agent York, the Counselor requires your presence in debriefing room three at 13:30. May I suggest leaving for the locker room soon?”

“Ah, thanks F.I.L.S.S.” York sighs; surprise meetings with the Counselor, while not uncommon, are often incredibly unpleasant. He certainly hopes this isn’t another one of the unsettling man’s attempts at psychoanalysis. If he has to sit through another session of Aiden Price babbling on about childhood abandonment issues and the impact that had on his self-reliability and willingness to work as a team he’ll remove his own ears. Although, if it gets too much, he can always just put the man on his left; as unsettling as it is to have a blind spot, and a person in said blind spot, being mostly deaf in one ear certainly has its perks at moments.

With a soft sigh, York places the data pad on the side table, untangling his legs from his younger lover in the process. Pausing, he briefly considers waking Wash up before deciding against it. North isn’t the only one that’s noticed the deteriorating sleep habits of their lover. Nor is the taller man the only one worried about it. The Rookie may be able to hide his fatigue from the rest of the team, but York has helped him through an increasing number of nightmares and panic attacks that North manages to sleep through. Although, how anyone can sleep through that amount of thrashing, he will never understand.

Placing a chaste kiss to the forehead of his slumbering lover, York shoves his feet into his sneakers. He takes his time with the laces, fiddling with the knots in an effort to put off the unpleasantness that the next hour or so will undoubtedly be. Of course, his shoes only serve to distract him for a few precious moments before he’s forced to resign himself to his fate. Punching the door release, he exits the room, heading to the elevators, the third floor, and briefing room three.

* * *

The meeting is complete bullshit. York is intelligent. He knows that he’s smart, and some people have even argued brilliant. The Counselor and Director are well aware of this fact. So, why the fuck do they insist on treating him like some uneducated child incapable of understanding basic neurological terminology and the general idea behind smart AI technology? There is no need to spoon feed him this simplified information on neural implants and what he’s agreeing to. It’s not like the data they’re providing him, the dumbed down facts about AI, brain mapping, neural interfacing, and the general idea of having another mind sharing headspace, could even be considered enough for informed consent. Then again, York supposes that is the point. After all, not many people would agree to full on neuro-implants, a highly experimental and dangerous procedure, knowing what he knows. But he’s curious. And it's not something he can risk saying no to anyway. Not without revealing how much he knows. Wash isn’t the only one that has been doing some leg work.

Despite all his digging, however, York has to be completely honest with himself: the last thing he thought this meeting was going to be about was smart AI technology. Sure he knew the project was experimenting with it. And that the Director already had an AI in his possession. But he was also aware that, despite the man’s best efforts, only a  **single** AI has been obtained and all other attempts to garner another have been denied. It was only logical, based on his position on the leader board, that York wouldn’t be granted the privilege of experiencing implantation. He contemplates the danger of asking, questioning the reason behind his selection. The words sit heavy on this tongue, contained behind his teeth, aching to be asked but slow to be vocalized. He’s infinitely thankful for the rare moment in which his common sense overrules his curiosity, filter kicking in at the last minute, holding the query captive behind his lips. Thankfully the universe is looking out for him today, providing him with the answer to his unasked question when he tunes back into the mediocre run down.

“The AI fragments have been selected to best suit each candidate's skill set and personality. You will be receiving the logic fragment, designation Delta. It is our belief that this AI will increase your infiltration skills and compensate for your… disadvantage.” The Counselor’s tone is patronizing when addressing York’s injury, as if his blind spot, the lack of sight in his left eye, detracts from his ability to do his job. So he messed up on that lock last mission. It doesn’t make him incapable. Technically he wasn’t even supposed to be out of the medbay yet, and hadn’t had the chance to get used to the lack of depth perception. He doesn’t need a damn computer program to help him get passed this. If his training scores are anything to go by, he’s doing that himself, no outside help needed. But apparently the higher-ups disagree. York keeps his face neutral, aware of the Counselor’s eyes on him. The creepy bastard makes his skin crawl. “The implantation process is fairly painless and recovery time is short. We have scheduled your procedure for two days from now. In the meantime, we have introduced a new group training seminar on Artificial Intelligence Theory. Given your previous knowledge of this subject, the information we’ve just provided you, and your position on the leaderboard, the Director and myself believe that you are our preferred candidate.”

The mention of ranking perks York’s interest, and before he registers the question forming it has already left his tongue. “What about Tex and Carolina then? They’re both above me on the board. Shouldn’t they get first crack?”

“Both of the Agents above you have been already been approached. Carolina was scheduled for implantation this morning. However, she has graciously agreed to forfeit her AI to Agent Maine. It is our belief that Sigma will assist in field communication, acting as the voice Agent Maine no longer has. Essentially, much like the Delta AI will compensate for your disability, the Sigma fragment will offset Maine’s problems.” The response the Counselor provides is adequate, understandable even. Especially if one considers that Carolina could, potentially, see needing an AI a form of weakness. Considering the way the man in front of him has been presenting the entire concept, their entire reasoning to him, he doesn’t doubt that she would take it like that. Carolina is, arguably, the best of them. Better than Tex in some ways. Because, while the black armoured Freelancer may be top ranked, she lacks the ability to work as a team. Tex doesn’t do teamwork, doesn’t do cooperation. Which makes Carolina the better Freelancer in York’s book. A fact that is further demonstrated with her reasoning behind refusing the AI. The small flutter of desire in his stomach following those thoughts takes him completely by surprise. He’d really thought he was over the crush he’d formed early on in the project. Shit.

“Is that acceptable, Agent York?” The Counselor’s inquiry catches him off guard. Frowning, he mentally rewinds a few minutes in an effort to see if he can figure out what he’s supposed to agreeing to. Of course, he comes up blank. He’d been so focused on dissecting the Counselor’s reasoning for deceit that he’d failed to absorb anything said to him. York cringes internally; he’s gonna have to play up the deaf in one ear thing. Which sucks, because it feeds into the Counselor’s unflattering assessment of his capabilities.

Cocking his head to the left he offers the unsettling man before him a blank look. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that? You seem to have drifted a little to my left and I’m having trouble hearing you.”

The baleful look the Counselor shoots him is almost amusing. The guy isn’t exactly the most intimidating figure out there. York would say it’s more of like the creepy type of scary than the formidable, run for your life to avoid being murdered scary. And as unsettling as Aiden Price is, he deals with Florida almost daily, so the look he’s on the receiving end of does not have the desired effect. Instead of reacting the way he imagines the man is hoping he will, York shrugs flippantly, offering him a crooked grin. The long suffering sigh he gains in return is worth this entire ordeal. The Counselor’s skin is notoriously hard to get under, and unless York’s sorely mistaken, he just managed to burrow under it like an annoyingly large splinter. The impatience in his voice at having to repeat himself is further proof to this. “The implantation process will last anywhere from twenty to forty minutes. You will report to medbay observation room at 09:00 hours for a final briefing. From there you will be prepared for implantation and admitted into surgery. The entire procedure should not take longer than one hour and thirty minutes. The estimated recovery time is approximately two hours. After that it will take a few days to adjust. Does this timeline sound reasonable, Agent York?”

York considers the information so nonchalantly provided to him carefully. The way the Counselor is presenting the entire process to him is so casual that, if he wasn’t already aware exactly what happens during implantation, it would seem like a regular procedure, comparable to setting a shattered leg or removing someone’s tonsils. If he ever needed more proof that Project Freelancer was taking a turn for the shady, this would be it. As it is, he barely hesitates before nodding. “Understood, sir.”

“Then you are dismissed, Agent York. It is currently 14:15. I expect to see you in classroom six at 15:00.” The Counselor’s attention drifts down to a data pad resting on the holo-table, fingers swiping across the screen, inputting the results of their meeting. York quietly slips out of the room, intent on avoiding drawing the man’s attention back to him. He’d much rather spend as much time with Wash and North than get caught up in any forgotten details here. He manages to successfully flee the room before the Counselor remembers the information York’s positive was never said, mainly whether he’s allowed to discuss any of this with the other Freelancers or not. Although, it’s not like he’d listen to the man if he was told not to speak of it. But at least this way he isn’t disobeying a direct order.

With that in mind, York heads down to the locker room. If there is only 45 minutes left until this stupid theory class, Wash and North are most likely getting geared up. At least, he hopes they are. Otherwise he’s gonna have to head back to his room and wake Wash up. Which would really be a shame as the poor guy needs the extra sleep and even though training is mandatory, York would hate to be the one that stole even a second of rest from his younger lover. Rounding the corner, he catches a flash of purple that hopefully belongs to North. It’s a shame he never paid more attention to the clothing his taller lover wore today, as walking in on South changing is most often a painful experience for him. 

Stepping cautiously into the room, York observes the room silently, shoulders slumping in relief when his gaze lands on the familiar sight of North’s well muscled back. Swallowing hard, he takes a moment to appreciate the view, running his eye over the subtle rippling that happens as the sniper steps into his undersuit. He’s still staring when a blonde head disrupts his line of sight, popping up right in front of his face. “Nice sight, hey? Know what else is nice? Waking up in a warm bed after a satisfying nap. Waking up alone when there was originally another person there with you? Not so much. Jerk.”

Cursing, York stumbles back a pace, surprised by the sudden proximity of Wash. The little shit snuck up on his left. Maybe the Counselor has a point about this AI helping him compensate. It’ll certainly be useful stopping his younger lover from scaring the crap out of him, both intentionally and unintentionally. Oh Wash is going to hate that. But for now, he’s going to use his lover’s penchant for getting up close and personal to his advantage. Because a kiss would be very much appreciated right now. And with the younger man’s lips only a few inches away from his own, well York would be stupid not to take that opportunity. Who cares if anyone sees? He definitely doesn’t. 

Leaning forward again, he presses his lips against Wash’s in a hard kiss, hand coming up to cup the back of the younger man’s neck, keeping him from pulling away. The action is completely unnecessary, however, as his lover melts into the kiss completely, mouth opening willingly at the slightest swipe of his tongue. The enthusiastic response encourages York, entices him to take things further. He wraps his free arm around Wash’s waist, tugging him so that their bodies are flush together. The blonde whimpers into his mouth, hands coming up to grip his biceps hard. An amused laugh from North, accompanied by a low whistle from behind them, has York breaking the kiss quickly. CT brushes passed them as he releases the man in his arms, grinning at the bright flush painting Wash’s cheeks and the bridge of his nose crimson, highlighting the smattering of freckles there. “Ah, sorry Wash. Got a little caught up in it. After all, I did miss out earlier. Which totally wasn’t my fault, by the way. The Counselor scheduled a last minute meeting with me and I didn’t want to wake you. I’ll tell you all about it as we get suited up, OK?”

“OK.” Wash studies his face carefully for a moment before nodding in acceptance. The shorter man presses a quick peck to his lips before pulling away completely, despite his friend’s presence in the room. CT sends him a wink and a smirk; however, her eyes remain hard and calculating as she watches them. His lover ignores their audience, gripping York’s wrist and tugging him further into the room. Following willingly, he allows himself to be pulled to the bench in front of his locker. It’s only after he punches in the code and begins to strip down that either of his lovers pester him for information. Unsurprisingly, it’s North who speaks first. “Alright York. Spill. What did the Counselor want? Obviously it couldn’t have been that bad seeing as you aren’t overly annoyed right now.”

“Ah. Luckily this time it wasn’t any psycho-babble bullshit. And completely relevant to today’s group training thing actually. Apparently we are all getting AI. And, lucky little ole me? Well, I get the first one.” He can’t help the sarcasm from bleeding through as he explains. Even though York understands the process better than most, is curious about having one even, that doesn’t mean he isn’t a little nervous. Something Wash picks up on from his tone alone, as he immediately finds a pair of freckled arms encircling him, offering him quiet support. Somehow his younger lover has managed to divest himself of his pants, undersuit already pulled up his legs. He swears that one day he’ll figure out just how the shorter man changes so fast. But for now he’s just going to take a minute to bask in the freely offered comfort for a moment. Wrapping an arm around Wash’s waist, York buries his face in his lover’s neck, nosing one of the many clusters of freckles decorating the pale skin there. The responding giggle as his stubble scrapes over exposed flesh is enough to have him completely relaxed again. Somehow his lovers always know exactly what he needs. Releasing Wash for the second time in ten minutes isn’t any easier than the first; he’d much rather keep clinging than continue with this crap. But he promised them an explanation. Taking a deep breath, he continues. “Apparently the AI we’re receiving are just fragments, however. Don’t ask me how that works, I didn’t even think it was possible to fragment smart AIs but apparently they found a way. And in two days I’ll be sharing headspace with the logic fragment. I gotta be honest guys, as interesting as the whole concept is, I’m not exactly excited to share my most intimate of thoughts with a computer program, regardless of how advanced it is.”

That statement garners a small chuckle out of North. York’s not surprised. They’ve discussed the likelihood of obtaining AI and he spent weeks during the early days of the project, long before Wash, explaining the theories to the sniper. The taller man is well aware of his trepidation, the reasons behind it, and his excitement despite it. If anyone is going to understand his mixed feelings here, it’s going to be North. Unfortunately, his personal feelings aren’t the only reason he’s ill at ease. The flippant casualness that his COs have approached this with is far more important. So instead of allowing his older lover to interrupt and offer him his own type of reassurance, York pushes on. “The whole meeting put me on edge, and not just because of that. The information package they provided me with was ridiculously thin. There wasn’t nearly enough information on the process, the possible risks, and the side effects that come with sharing you brain with another sentient thing. If I wasn’t already aware of the process and the theories behind AI implantation, I would have absolutely no idea what this whole thing pertains. I wouldn’t know that I just agreed to a highly invasive, highly experimental, and down right dangerous procedure. As it is, I still don’t feel comfortable doing it. But I don’t think I have much of a choice, frankly. The entire meeting was just a set up to coerce me into consenting. I’d rather not be the target of more ‘accidents’. God, North. Wash. We gotta get out of here.”

His last words drift ominously out into the room, and quite suddenly, York remembers that they are in a public area of the ship. And they aren’t alone either. CT has her head tilted to the side like a curious bird as she observes them. Her eyes are calculating as they study his face for a moment, before she drops her gaze to meet Wash’s. “Well… you learn something new every day. Guess you boys aren’t as oblivious as I originally thought. It isn’t wise to talk here though. Meet me at debriefing room four at 02:00 tonight? We might be able to trade some notes.”

He finds himself agreeing only moments after North has nodded his assent. All eyes turn to Wash and York winces at the hesitancy he sees there. The younger Freelancer is chewing his lower lips in a way that betrays his nerves. He’s tempted to reach out and offer his smaller lover the same comfort he’d just received, to step forward and wrap his arms around him, to shelter the innocence he sees in front of him from the inevitable shit storm brewing just outside of this conversation. But York knows better. If Wash were to even suspect half of what just ran through his mind, he’d probably be flat on his ass from dirty looks alone. His lover is far from innocent, as he’s relearning daily for different reasons. In fact, sometimes York thinks he might actually be more innocent than the Rookie, despite the fact he’s got five years on him.

It takes Wash far longer than it should to agree, considering the fact the three of them had already agreed to join forces with CT, something the younger man had been adamant about earlier that morning. But eventually his blonde head tips down in a minuscule nod, singling his tentative acceptance. The decision does little to clear his nervousness, however, and York winces as he watches his lover continue to chew through his lip. North catches the look of concern he’s leveling at Wash, acting on it without hesitation. The sniper reaches over to run his fingers lightly along their younger lover’s lips, pulling the bottom one away from his teeth.

“You’re going to make yourself bleed, love. No more of that.” The warm concern in North’s voice is enough to pull Wash away from whatever deep thoughts were holding him captive, receiving a bright, if slightly forced, smile. The brilliance of that freckled grin drops the bottom out of York’s stomach, effectively hardening his resolve. There is no way in hell he’s going to let Freelancer take that away. Nor will he allow North’s answering smile to be dampened. If anything is worth fighting for, this is. His taller lover seems to be on a similar wavelength, judging by the way his soft smile slips away, shaping itself into something deadly. “Enough of this, though. CT is right. This is not the time or place for this conversation. We need to gear up and get it together or risk drawing attention to ourselves.”

York shivers at the way Wash’s eyes sweep over him, appraising his appearance, before shifting his attention to North and CT respectively. “Well then. Hurry up slowpokes. We all know I’m not going to have problems getting dressed in time.”

“Dibs.” The word is out of his mouth before he’s even aware of why he’s staking his claim. The thought follows immediately after, however. He has no doubts about the fact he’s going to be the last one to finish dressing. But, by calling dibs, York has claimed Wash’s help after the younger man is finished with his own armour. He’s not too proud to request assistance from his lover. North raises an eyebrow, silently expressing his curiosity. Shrugging, he voices his explanation outloud. “Hey, I’m man enough to admit that I might need help.”

“Oh you need help alright. You can’t call dibs on a person, York. That’s against the International Dibs Protocol.” How Wash can say that with a straight face, York will never know. But the fact his lover can continue with one is even more baffling. “It’s outlined in the subsection titled “Staking Claim to Sentient Beings”. The International Dibs Protocol is subservient to the Freewill Treatise. You should probably read the fine print before using rules you don’t understand.”

If York wasn’t absolutely, completely, one hundred percent attuned to Wash’s personal brand of snark, he’d probably be rendered speechless. As it is, he’s well versed in his lover’s dry, deadpan style of sarcasm. So instead of gaping at the younger man’s response, he releases a slightly breathless laugh, conceding to Wash with an impressed dip of his head before turning back to his locker. Retrieving his undersuit, he shakes it out, contemplating his boxer-briefs for a moment. He usually goes commando under the suit, as even the slightest amount of fabric between his skin and the layer of neoprene and Kevlar that is tight enough to consider being a second skin tends to be uncomfortable. But he’s feeling slightly self-conscious today, for reasons unknown. A glance over at CT ensures him that the other Freelancer is absorbed in her own process of getting dressed. It’s enough for him to quickly shed his last piece of clothing before shimmying into the familiar comfort of the suit. Wash offers him an amused glance at his antics, to which he very maturely replies to by sticking out his tongue. Beside them, North sighs. “Hurry up York. Stop fucking around or we’re gonna be late.”

He sighs at the reminder, shifting his focus and falling into the routine of donning his armour. The locker room falls quiet, only the clinking of armour being fastened breaking the silence. York manages to get the armour of his lower body strapped on before Wash’s hands join his in attaching the remaining pieces. He nudges his younger lover teasingly as the man’s dexterous hands make short work of his chest and back pieces. “Thought dibs didn’t work on ‘Sentient Beings’ Wash. Does this mean you’re as cold and unfeeling as those knives you love?”

“Careful York. I’m not sure you want to feel just how warm I am right now. Might make you a tad uncomfortable in that armour. We both know how confining that codpiece is.” Wash’s threat is accompanied by fingers trailing up the still unarmoured swell of his bicep. Despite the way the sensation is muted by the layer of neoprene and Kevlar, York still shivers at the pressure. As soon as he reacts, the fingers retreat, returning only to finish fastening the last piece of his armour efficiently. An amused snort sounds from behind them.

“Holy shit, you’re like a fucking child.” The laughter in CT’s voice is unmistakable. York spins to look at her. The smirk she’s wearing is so distinctly South-like that it makes him shudder. “It’s like watching an oversized toddler being dressed in a snowsuit by an overprotective parent. Are you going to make sure his boots are tucked into his snow pants too, Wash? Gonna adjust his jacket so the cuffs are over top of his mitts? Can’t have your little munchkin getting cold, now can you?”

“Umm…” The confusion on Wash’s face would be priceless if embarrassment wasn’t burning York alive from the inside. He’s about to deny it, jump to his own defence, but the shorter man offers him a look of complete and utter puzzlement. “I don’t… actually know what that means? What the fuck is a snowsuit?”

CT’s eyebrows shoot up in shock at the same time North chokes on his laughter. Wash stares up at York imploringly, still tantalizingly close from helping him get dressed. He offers his lover an amused smile before offering him a quick explanation. “A snowsuit is a set of protective clothing worn to keep someone warm when it's snowy outside. They are insulated and often bulky. Children have a hard time dressing themselves, requiring help to make sure that their skin isn’t exposed to the elements. Only children need help getting dressed for the snow. In short, CT is suggesting I’m not able to dress myself properly.”

“An apt observation, I’d say.” There is still mirth remaining in North’s words. York glares ineffectively at him over Wash’s head. His younger lover chuckles, nodding in agreement, however. Their taller lover smirks at the agreement. “See York, even Wash thinks you’re an immature child.”

York glowers down at Wash in mock anger, taking a step back and crossing his arms. “You traitor. I thought you were on my side, Wash. I thought you loved me. How will I live with this betrayal? You’ve struck my heart, it’s a mortal wound. I’ll never recover. Woe be me.”

The dramatics are greeted with a chorus of laughter, completely eliminating any lingering darkness and clearing the air. York takes a moment to hope the lightened mood will last until they meet later tonight. North offers him a knowing smile, soft and secret, before ruining the moment with a quiet reminder. “Time to go, guys. We wouldn’t want to be late for this group training session.”

“Ugh. AI theory. This is going to be miserable.” Wash whines, but York can tell it’s only halfhearted. The Rookie may not be on board with the whole classroom setting, but his desire to learn things, especially things that his lovers are interested in, ensures that this session won’t be as awful as his words suggest.

* * *

The AI Theory class is about as boring as York expected it to be and by the end of the hour and a half lecture he’s halfway between bored to tears and nodding off. He’s already managed to piss Wash off to the point of receiving the silent treatment. Which is only marginally better than the harshly whispered promises of bodily harm and lack of sex that North’s been uttering for the last fifteen minutes. York has a feeling that his lovers won’t be sitting near him for the next few classes. Not that he’s entirely at fault. The material they’ve been covering throughout this torturous experience is something he’d learned years ago. It's so basic it makes simple addition look complicated. Although, it is possible that he only thinks that because he has an abnormally detailed background to work off of. Either way, he’s fucking bored.

When the Counselor finally finishes his dry explanation regarding the history of AI, including the vast amount of failed attempts at creating them and humanity’s fear regarding non-human, non-living, intelligences, releasing them from the lecture once it is clear that none of the Freelancers have questions, York is out of his seat and headed for the door before the man has finished dismissing them. He’s hungry and not entirely excited to face the ire of his lovers head on now that he no longer has the Counselor’s disapproval to shelter him from retaliation. However, before he can get too far, North catches up, grabbing his wrist and forcing him to stop. The larger man waits until the rest of the Freelancers file passed them, only releasing him when Wash plants himself in York’s escape path. The younger man beats North to the punch, getting in close and growling in his face.

“What the fuck was that York?” He shivers at the warm breath ghosting over his lips. Wash is gorgeous when furious. Then again, York thinks Wash is gorgeous all the time. His younger lover could be covered in snot and vomit and he’d still find him appealing. But that’s probably because he’s hopelessly gone for the other man. It takes everything he has to resist kissing the frustration off of his lover’s face. Something that North seems to notice, judging by the barely audible and immediately silenced chuckle of amusement that tickles his ear. Wash glares at the taller man for a moment before his rage refocuses on its source. “I know you know this crap already. But some of us can’t afford to be distracted during lectures. I need to know what we’re up against here. I need to know what could happen to you when that thing gets put in your head, York. That means I can’t risk playing footsies with you under the desk while Price spews AI information that is already so tediously dry that it could make that desert planet Florida hit up for recon last week look like a fucking tropical rain forest. Dammit, don’t you get it? I’m just trying to make sure the people I love stay alive. Even if they include someone as idiotic as you. For someone so intelligent you can be damn stupid sometimes.”

The outburst takes him by surprise. Sure he knew Wash was annoyed, he’d even expected it. But the reasons behind the younger man’s ire was completely beyond anything York had considered. The idea that his lover was pissed at his distractions because it threatened his ability to keep York safe, to help him with his upcoming AI implantation, left him with cheeks burning in shame. He’d been so busy distracting himself from his own fears regarding this entire situation to consider how useful the information being offered in these classes could benefit his younger lover. After all, basic knowledge had to be better than no knowledge at all when it came to this.

Taking a deep breath, York forces himself to remain calm instead of defensively reacting to the anger Wash unleashes on him. Reaching out, he wraps an arm around his younger lover’s waist, drawing him into a tight embrace. The smaller man fights him for a moment before giving in, collapsing against his chest with a defeated sigh. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Shh. I know babe. I’m sorry.” He murmurs into Wash’s ear, hand stroking soothingly up his lover’s trembling back. North snorts behind him, completely unamused. The sound forces York to defend himself and explain further. “I’m nervous too, remember? And that crap was so basic, so elementary, that it is pretty much useless on this level of AI interactions. The information they are giving us isn’t even enough to be considered informed consent. It’s bullshit, Wash. Anything you want to know you’d be better off asking me.”

“OK. OK, fine. Then tell us. Give us a lesson on what you think we need to know. Because the only thing I know about AI theory is what I just learned in there.” The edge is back in Wash’s voice, but this time it registers as frustration rather than anger. York releases him, taking a step back when the younger man pulls away. “Explain everything about what is going to happen, York. I need to know what to expect. Not all of us are geniuses, you know.”

North interrupts him before he can offer a suitable reply, hand pressing into York’s lower back and propelling him forwards slightly. “Lessons would be helpful, I agree. But I can’t stand to listen to anymore of this stuff on an empty stomach. And I definitely didn’t learn anything in there, so we’ve got a lot to go over. Food first, talk later. Sound good?”

“Mmm god yes. I am starving.” He can barely suppress the needy moan from rolling off his tongue as he lets North guide him towards the mess. Wash nods in assent, falling into step with them as they head down the hall.

“I hope there is something hot left. If I have to eat another sandwich tonight I’m going to hit someone.” The way Wash says that, the pure venom dripping from the words, takes both York and North by surprise, drawing laughs from both of them. The half hearted glare that accompanies the statement does nothing to stop it. Smiling at the younger man, he catches a freckled hand in his for a brief squeeze. Wash squeezes back. “I’m serious though. Fucking sandwiches.”


End file.
